Saints & Sinners
by MarquessaS
Summary: The brothers finally make it to Mexico for some much-needed R&R.  They find it, but it comes at a price.
1. Chapter 1

Published earlier on other sites as The Fury of San Mateo Alemann. Minor changes from that version, but essentially the same.

Chapter 1

The Winchester brothers had finally arrived. After a long and harried journey, fraught with the usual issues, plus a few new and decidedly unwelcome ones, they pulled up in front of the resort Sam had Impala was hissing with the heat of the long run, dust-caked and radiating exhaustion. Black car, black interior, unrelentingly hot Gulf sun...it was a brutal combination for a lengthy trek.

Dean was first to attempt to unfold himself from the sticky seat with some semblance of dignity. He got out, gripped the doorframe and stretched, groaning with a loud discomfort. It had been, to say the least, a very long drive. Sam sat back in the driver's seat and rubbed a weary hand over his face, plucking the errant sweaty bangs away from his brow. _Air-con_…he was ready to sell a kidney for it. He pulled the keys and waited a moment or two before exiting, closing his gritty eyes and resting his head against the seat. Finally...Mexico.

It had been a nerve-wracking experience, crossing the border. They weren't sure what to expect in terms of scrutiny, and both had sat sweating and smiling stupidly in nervous fear, as they were asked the usual questions. But their answers raised no red flags,...they were just another couple of yahoos in search of some sun and beach,-and they were allowed to continue through without any further interrogation. It took several miles more before either dared to breathe normally again. After that, they burst out in near-hysterical laughter and the tension broke.

Dean scratched his hair and gazed around him at the glowing sandy strand. It was a thing of beauty...warm and bright and sparkling. The vista was not quite what he'd expected. The area had been hard hit by the last battery of hurricane season, and the landscape was still devastated. What had been an elegant avenue of tall, swaying palms was now lined with ragged, splintered trunks of varying heights, all sadly shorn of their waving fronds. The ubiquitous thatched beach huts were non-existent, all flattened by the high winds and surf. The resort's main buildings were relatively unharmed, with the exception of the glass, which had been replaced immediately. But there was endless work in store to rebuild the area to meet the fairytale expectations of the tourists that fed the economy here. It was a perfect situation for the brothers, immediate paid laborers' jobs, cheap hotel rates—and a setting that demanded they do nothing but relax and unwind after simple days of hard work. No hunts, no distress…no harm.

Sam followed Dean, standing stiffly after his endless time behind the wheel. Dean had tried to do his share, but he'd found it too tiring and uncomfortable to stay alert and focused behind the wheel for any length of time. It irritated him beyond words, as driving was his particular form of sanctuary. But after his run in with the werewolf in Texas, he found strength and stamina frustratingly slow to return, at least by his own, impatient standards. Sam would try to grab a bit of shut-eye, but he'd frequently catch Dean mid-grimace as he shifted around in the driver's seat in vain hope of finding a position that didn't stress his newly acquired scars. At that point he would find an excuse to request that Dean stop, and then he'd take the wheel again, knowing he could never simply suggest that his brother take the back seat and rest for a while. Dean's pride was all the more belligerent when he felt weak.

Sam had tried to remain patient. He had, after all, vowed to ensure that his brother finally got the R&R he needed and deserved. But by now, he was stretched to his limit by Dean's restlessness and ill-tempered complaints. He hardly noticed the tattered beauty of this place, heading instead in search of a bed and some blessed sleep.

"Dean, you coming?"

Dean wandered back, and leaned against the hood, clasping his hands on the hot metal. "Yeah. What do we do—ask about work first, or check in..?"

Sam was already heading toward the units facing the beach. He was a man with a mission, and nothing was going to get between him and his pillow. "Room." he tossed over his shoulder. He had no energy left for conversation. Dean shrugged and grabbed a few bags, following him to check in. By the time he'd caught up with him, Sam had gotten the keys and paperwork. They walked in tired silence back to the sprawling beach building, finding their unit and unlocking it. Sam dropped the keys on the table and face-planted onto the closest bed, stretching his long arms to the sides as if hugging a long lost friend. Dean dropped his bags and sat heavily on the second one. He watched his brother melt into the mattress.

"You could've let me drive some more, you know." he objected guiltily.

A muffled grunt served as Sam's answer. But he turned over and stretched like a cat on his back, sighing with deep relief. "Relax, Dean. I know you did your part. It was just a really long drive….I'm fried."

"Mmm. How long are we booked here for?"

"A week. After that we should try to find work. It's cheap right now because of the shape everything's in after the hurricane, but not so cheap that we can hang out forever."

Dean was thwarted in discussing anything else, as Sam had settled into some deep snoring within minutes. Dean shook his head with a little smile, and lay back on his own bed. –_Pussy_. He checked the time, it was late afternoon. Dinner would be served soon, which pleased him as he was famished. He wondered what these all-inclusive joints served, but he was eager to fill the hollow space in his middle with whatever was going, plus a tray-full of Coronas, served, if there was a god, by some buxom, tanned waitress that thought nothing of delivering a meal in a tiny, neon bikini…..

* * *

><p>When they both finally woke up, the sun was a deep orange ball floating over the sea, and it was long past the dinner buffet. Dean swore in disappointment, shaking a protesting Sam awake.<p>

"Knock it off, jerk!" the younger man growled, attempting to roll over and away from the irritant.

Dean persisted. "C'mon, lazy-arse! Are you planning to spend the whole time here in the sack, alone? Let's go find something to eat and see how the chicks rate around here."

Sam reluctantly rose to sit on the bed edge, knowing it would be hopeless to ignore Dean when he was pumped on an entire road-trip's worth of caffeine and eager anticipation. "Can I at least have a freaking shower? I feel like stale crap."

"Yeah, you look the part too. Go scrub the bitchiness out, Sam…but hurry up, will you? I don't wanna miss out on anything."

Sam brushed past him and made his way to the can. He felt like he was pet-sitting an ADHD Jack Russell terrier...entertain him or else! As he adjusted to the steaming water, he felt the cramped, churlish feelings melt away with the cascading stream. God, it felt good. After all the hours in that damned car, this was pure heaven.

But heaven had a meter running. Dean, sure he was on the verge of expiring from starvation, banged on the door and hollered at him to quit preening, it was a lost cause anyway. After some choice exchanges, Sam emerged refreshed and ready. He stopped short and stared at his brother.

"What the hell is _that_?" he burst out, with a guffaw.

Dean had adopted a _when-in-Rome_ attitude. He'd discarded his dusty jeans and pulled on a pair of baggy, wildly flowered shorts. He had been waiting with his hands in TaDa! mode for Sam to come out.

"What? Just blending in, Sam. I figured I'd go native for the week." he grinned shyly.

Sam laughed. "Hey-dude, I'm with you. Just never figured you'd ditch the long pants without a fight." He remembered having to cut Dean's jeans off and hide the rest of his clothes to get him into shorts when they were in Florida. -_Guess he learned something after all…. _

"Where the hell did you get those?"

Dean rummaged in his gear for the flip flops Sam had forced him to wear in the Keys. "Bought'em in that last joint near the border. On sale too."

"Go figure." Sam snorted.

But before Dean could succumb to his embarrassment and attempt to change, Sam sought a colourful pair himself. The two stood in front of the mirror for several moments, eyeing their reflections critically. Dean pronounced a verdict. "We look like dorks."

Sam laughed. "No, but we sure as hell are pasty. We need a tan, like yesterday. Nobody's gonna bother asking if it's our first day here, that's for sure."

Dean grunted in agreement. "Well Sammy, I'm about to gnaw off my own arm here. Find us some food."

* * *

><p><span>Six weeks earlier...<span>

Young Father Elieis Herrera was freshly ordained. And as such, he burned with the passionate fires of youthful conviction, and was eager to implement his New Ideas. He envisioned a new path to God, one clarified by the discarding of the millstones of Old Religion; superstition, ritual,…the ponderous language and observances. It was long overdue, in his mind. For centuries here, the Church had allowed practices that bordered on idol worship, activities, he was sure, that obscured the true path to salvation. He vowed to work hard to eradicate these nonsensical beliefs, particularly the abhorrent veneration of relics...the worship of bits of bone and hair and yellowed fingernails that had once been part of the living saints.

His approach bordered on heresy, and worse-he was an irritating thorn in the side of his tired and jaded colleagues. The elder Catholic fathers were perfectly happy with the way things were currently done—both God and the people seemed happy enough. At least, neither was complaining. They decided he needed to be contained. They worked to isolate him, drop him in some tiny rural parish where the waves he generated would peter out harmlessly, leaving the comfortable status quo intact. And so, the young priest found himself in this poor and rural corner. Upon being given the old and crumbling Church Of San Mateo Alemann, he vowed that his first task must be to sweep away the parish's obsession with the very things he'd preached against. After an inspired and thunderous sermon at his first mass, one that left his new congregation agape with shock and disapproving worry, Father Elieis set about cleaning house.

He had some idea of how his new ways were received. He sectretly reveled in the shock and bewilderment he'd caused his people. To heal, he thought, one must cut away the rot. Of course there was pain in this, but soon they would see that the result was a healthier faith. When mass was long over and the murmuring throng had left, he strolled around the patched and crumbling walls of the old building. He made a list as he went, making note of the statues and icons that seemed to rule every corner...their bland expressions, painted like whores, beseeching alms from these poor, misguided people. They were draped in decorated finery, as if they were kings and queens, and gilt crowns and baubles adorned them. Scraps of paper, each carrying the scribbled prayer of a worshipper, littered the statue bases, spilling over the edge and piling on the floor. Father Elieis knew that the faithful looked to these wood and plaster things as if they were gods in their own right, begging their favour in return for the offerings they could ill afford. No-it had to stop.

He paused finally in front of the ornate, gilded casket that held the relics. The pride of the parish, the blessed remains of San Mateo Alemann himself. –_Disgusting._ He didn't even want to know what lay in the revered container, seated on its dusty, half rotted velvet cushion, and strewn with wilted and dead floral offerings and the wax from countless votive candles. It could be anything; a shriveled finger, or a lock of hair, a tooth or a darkened scrap of bone. He'd once visited a church in his youth, where he was told by a beaming deacon that they had the dried foreskin of San Salvatore in a silver box, and it was given to granting miracles. He snorted, remembering the man's stupid pride over the macabre souvenir. Well, whatever lay in this box now, he would see that it was buried in the churchyard where it belonged.

Father Elieis wiped his hands on his cassock and turned to the vestry. He needed to learn now. There was a network of faithful that did things for the building and its priest, it was the same everywhere. He would familiarize himself with these good people, find out who did what and who could serve as an ally while he imposed his changes. He scanned through the books and notes of his predecessor. Sadly, there were few who served. Lino Salazar...he seemed to be the caretaker. He had yet to speak to the man, but he had seen him puttering about the yard, a sour, hunched figure that radiated more malice than faith. And there was old, nearly blind Sister Crotilda, who did the laundry and washed the church-goods after mass. He'd watched as she made her way around the church, mumbling her prayers to the statues, kissing their gesso'd feet. She was going to be his cross to bear in this...she was the one responsible for the overwrought, ridiculous dresses in which the statues were clothed, and she was immensely proud of the precious box of San Mateo's corporeal leftovers. He was going to have a tough time convincing her that this was not the way to salvation. She'd fawned over these distractions for more than fifty years, and was more than likely going to try to brain him with the chalice when she found out what he'd done.

He sighed and returned to his chambers. This was not going to be easy.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Sam and Dean had decided to find out what they could graze on. They explored the resort, finding the pool area and sitting down at the bar. Dean craned his neck to assess the prospects. Sam greeted the man at the bar. He was an affable type; Mexican, and having the breezy manner of one who was accustomed to chatting with tourists. He wore a name tag, _Javier._ Sam shook his hand and introduced himself, and Dean.

"So Javier, I guess we missed the dinner hour…anything edible left on the plates we could scrape off? My brother here has been whining that he'll pass out from starvation."

"What do you mean, like dinner, or a snack? Hell, you can order anything you want. You don't have to stick with the buffet, that's for the old folks." he winked.

Hearing that, Dean abandoned his leering and turned to Javier. "Oh _man_! You made my day. I already ate all the freaking mints from the housekeeping carts. I don't care what you have, just bring lots of it!"

Javier had a mischievous smile. "You like it spicy, or American?"

"Uh….depends, what do you call American?" Dean tested.

"American is for the retirees, the women…little kids. But if you want to experience the _real_ Mexico, I'll set you up."

Dean glanced at Sam. "Alright, Javier, do your worst. I think we can handle it." he assured arrogantly. But he was grinning, and Javier was far from offended.

"Ah, a challenge from Dean." Javier parried. "Well, you ladies stick around. I'll be back in fifteen minutes."

Sam and Dean waited in hungry anticipation of a culinary coup, or assault...depending on what would be offered. Javier returned with two laden platters. Dean stretched toward it, soaking up the aroma. "Oh _man_ that smells good!"

Javier winked at Sam and served out a heaping plateful to each of them. "Now you're gonna taste the _real_ Mexico." Javier sat back with a satisfied grin as both boys plowed through his efforts. When it was all consumed, Dean was poised to clean the plate with his tongue when Sam gave him the _look_. He put the plate back down, slightly sheepish.

"Good job, Javier...decent kick there, and fairly filling. I give it an eight."

Javier raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. "An eight?"

Sam laughed. "Hey, don't take it personally, Javier...we've been on the road for a long time, we've had all the best roadkill America has to offer."

Javier threw up his hands in mock exasperation, muttering something about pearls before swine. He grabbed three Coronas, deftly planted a juicy slice of lime in the neck of each, and bade them to sit on the beach as the waves quieted and the sun's last throes scattered tangerine and pink jewels over the water. They sat in contented silence for a while, appreciating the defiant display as it slipped below the horizon into the sea.

"Now really, what are you boys wasting your time here for now? This isn't peak season and the place looks like shit. You oughta sue your travel agent."

It was Sam who answered. "Javier, sometimes you just have to say to hell with it, and check out for a while. Dean and me...we've had some rough times lately, with work…and other stuff. We just needed some peace and quiet and sun and sand."

Dean seconded that. "Yeah, and we're not exactly here on a platinum card, and we figured there might be some work available, after the storm. We're fairly flexible, we can do pretty much whatever's paying a basic wage. Sam's got us booked for a week of holiday time, but after that we'll have to start washing dishes, or finding some rich old broad to charm."

Javier snorted. "Yeah, good luck with that last one. You're a few back from me in that line. But seriously, if you two want to earn your keep, there's a lot needing fixing around here. Tomorrow I'll introduce you to Serge Rancourt. He runs the place...good guy. He's looking for extra hands to redo the landscaping and shit like that, if you want."

Sam was appreciative, but he had another, more important agenda to fulfil first. "Thanks, Javier. I think, in a few days we'll take you up on that. But right now, I don't want to have to do or think about anything more complicated than whether or not I should haul my lazy ass out of the sand to get to the buffet before the blue-haired swarm gets all the good stuff."

Javier laughed and raised his bottle to them. "Ok. I hear the message...Do Not Disturb until the pesos run out. Let me know when you're close to eviction...I've got some options for you." He rose and stretched. "Well...good meeting you boys, but I gotta head home. Long day at the stove; all these pushy Americans wanting to be fed at all hours!" That was followed by something Spanish and pithy. But he smiled genuinely and left them with a wave.

"Nice guy." Sam commented.

Dean nodded, and lay back on the warm sand, closing his eyes. The brothers stayed there for some time, listening to the quiet waves tumble over the fine, sugary sand as the sky turned from warm tones to the cool blues of night. As Dean lay on his back with his head resting on his hands, he looked up and stared, mesmerized, as the stars appeared weakly, then brightened. It was worlds away from anything dark or threatening. -_Perfect_- "This was a good idea, Sammy."

Sam didn't answer. He was breathing deeply in peaceful and contented sleep. Dean smiled and settled in to do the same.

If it hadn't been for the mosquitoes, they'd have slept the night where they lay. But the whine of the insects finally pestered Dean awake, and he got Sam up and they turned in to continue their pleasant dreams indoors.

* * *

><p>Morning came with a brilliant azure sky, empty of clouds and glowing with the promise of a perfect day. Dean was up first, determined not to miss the breakfast buffet. He scratched the grit out of his hair, realizing that the sand was still in his clothing as well, not to mention his sheets. A quick shower solved that, and he shook out the shorts and threw on a fresh tee. A persistent series of kicks to Sam's bed got the younger Winchester up, and once he too, was presentable, they hit the dining room.<p>

Javier was there, supervising. He caught sight of them and waved them over. "You all recovered from your drive now?" he asked.

"Getting there. Sam and I nearly slept all night on the beach, it was pretty damned perfect."

Sam agreed. "Yeah, I would have, but Dean's afraid of the dark, so we had to go in." He yelped as Dean elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

Javier chuckled. "You two remind me of my brother and me. Grab some breakfast, boys. After that I want to introduce you to Serge, he's the red haired guy in the corner. I know you need your week's layabout, but if you're serious about working after that, you should set it up now. We're hiring labourers daily, I'd hate to see all the jobs taken by next week."

The brothers agreed and made their way to the line. When they had piled their plates full, they found a shady table in the adjacent pavilion, and they ate in happy silence, watching the waves foam and retreat on the beach beyond. Dean had his eye on several promising little triangles of bright cloth, tied snugly over bronzed skin…

"Sam...check that one out, the blonde."

Sam looked up from his reading, he'd picked up a handful of pamphlets about local attractions from the lobby. He raised his brow approvingly. "Nice friend too, the girl with the short hair."

Dean wiped his mouth quickly on the back of his hand. "Come on, Sam...we can catch up with them. I'll show you how it's done."

Sam snorted, but he remembered Javier's request. "We'll have to chase them down later. We're supposed to meet that manager guy."

"Are you serious? Crap!" Dean reluctantly watched as they disappeared down the beach. "Aw _man_, I don't wanna talk about work yet, we just got here!"

"I know, but we should arrange this now, then we don't have to think about it again all week."

Dean grumbled, annoyed to be thwarted in chasing his quarry. He hardly had time to whine though, as Javier was motioning to them from the alcove to join him. "Well, Javier's waving to us anyway, Sam." he said, rising. Sam followed him.

Javier did the intros and they quickly arranged to begin on the landscape crew next week. Serge Rancourt seemed like he'd be a decent boss...Javier seemed to like him well enough. When the manager excused himself to tend to business, Javier congratulated them.

"There you go, boys...no need to starve next week, heh?" he grinned. "I was going to start stockpiling leftovers."

Sam thanked him. "That's a load off my mind. You have no idea how hard it is to keep that thing fed!" he snorted, pointing at his brother.

Dean offered a hand gesture in return.

Javier laughed. "Por nada. Listen—come by my place tonight, I've got some friends coming out, we're gonna play some guitar and party a bit. It's always a good time. Skip the dinner buffet, come hungry. I'm cooking up some good stuff."

"Hey, sure! Thanks, man." Dean said. "Can we bring a couple of dates?"

Javier chortled. "Fast mover are you? Sure, if you get lucky, bring'em along. I gotta go; enjoy your day."

They watched him go. Sam drained the last of his coffee. "Ok..now what, beach or pool?"

Dean chose the beach again. They wandered out and nabbed a couple of beach chairs and parked themselves in the hot sun. Wisely, Sam had picked up some sunblock. After slathering a healthy dose on himself, he offered it to Dean, who made a face and declined.

"You sure? You're gonna fry."

Dean shrugged. "Red's better than white. And it smells too much like a pina colada, I'll be craving them all day. And I'm not taking my shirt off anyway."

"What? Why not?"

Dean looked away, embarrassed. "Cuz I look like a freaking autopsy stiff right now. Yeah sure, chicks dig scars, but not when the stitches are still sticking out, for shits sake. I'm not gonna get laid if they think I'm Frankenstein."

Sam dropped it. He hadn't realized that Dean was sensitive about how he looked. He was perfectly fit, of course, that wasn't the issue. But the werewolf's efforts were still raw and healing...it was probably just as well to keep the sun off the tender skin right now.

"But you will go swimming?"

"Shit, yeah…I'll just keep my tee shirt on. Look...all kinds of people are out there with their shirts on. They probably got burnt to a crisp earlier."

-_Good_—thought Sam He wanted Dean to have the most fulfilling vacation possible. And the salt water could do nothing but good. "I could probably pull the sutures out for you by now."

Dean glanced around, and lifted his shirt for a quick assessment. "Yeah...that should be ok, maybe later tonight."

Sam pulled out the novel he'd bought, and he settled down in the sling chair for some pleasant reading. Dean tried to lie back and relax, and just enjoy the warmth and sound of the beach, but predictably, he grew restless. And that quickly deteriorated into bored. He scanned up and down the sand, fidgeting.

Sam didn't look up. "Go find yourself a woman, Dean. You're driving me nuts."

Dean grinned sheepishly. "Now we're talking. Tell you what, Sammy, I'll bring back a spare for you. I'll see you in a while."

"Happy hunting. –And be careful. And don't piss anybody off just yet, ok?"

"Yeah yeah." He sauntered off, walking barefoot in the surf. Sam watched him for a moment, with a little smile. This was a good idea.

* * *

><p>Had Father Elieis been a little older and more experienced, he might have trod a bit more lightly. But he was determined to bring about change, and he lacked the wisdom to pace it. The Monday following his first, controversial sermon, he set about clearing the offending statues from the alcoves of his church. He had already made space for them in a vestry cupboard, and when he had carried the last, forlorn looking figure out of the church and closed the doors on it, he locked them securely. He returned to the empty places where the figures had held court for so many decades—a century and counting, and began the arduous task of scrubbing the years of grime and wax and dried brown petals that had formed raised rings around the places that the plaster bases had stood. It took quite some time and he was sweating with the effort. In the end he had successfully removed almost all traces that they had ever existed, and felt satisfied at a job well done. He went back to his chambers, and returned with an arm load of neatly written plaques, nailing them in place where the saints had been. He stood back and dusted his hands. The messages were abundantly clear, written in his own impeccable writing. They were prayers, but they were directed to God himself, eschewing the detours and intercessions of the plaster saints. There would be no more misguided idolatry here.<p>

That, of course left the larger issue…the relics. This was particularly delicate. He wanted to simply empty the box of its gruesome contents and be rid of them, but these were the last remains of a beatified and pious man. He could hardly just toss them away in the dustbin and be done with it, there were rules. A body must be buried in sacred ground, whether the person had been a simple farmer or a venerable saint.

He said a series of prayers over the casket, and when he was done, he tipped it and unceremoniously swept the contents into a waiting shoe box. He carried it back to the cupboard to join the doleful statues, there to sit until he could speak to the caretaker, Lino Salazar, and instruct him to bury the box deep in the churchyard. He left the gilded casket in place…he would address his people on Sunday, show them the empty box, and the equal emptiness of their adulations. He was most pleased with the metaphor.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

True to his word, Dean returned with pleasant company on each arm. He'd found his earlier quarry, and won her over easily, promising her friend that his brother was at least half as charming as he was, and in the right light—not a bad looker. Needless to say, she was pleasantly surprised when she met Sam...he certainly exceeded her expectations, after Dean's faint praise. Dean explained to Sam that the girls were on the last day of their holiday, they were visiting from Canada and were scheduled to fly home tomorrow. His eyes sparkled as he told him of the plan to make their last night a blast.

Connie was the brunette, Julia the blonde. Dean and Sam spent the day with them. They swam, sunned, and tried the various water-sports offered. It was shaping up to be an epically perfect day for everyone. By the time late afternoon arrived, the foursome was lazily relaxing by the poolside, nearly spent from the day's activities. _Nearly_…Dean had an idea or two that would push the day over the top. After a snack and chat with Javier at the bar, they promised to come to his party, after a well earned siesta.

There was some unspoken accord. Sam was going to claim their room for a few hours, while Julia laid claim to the girls' suite. Dean faked his best yawn. "So...what's the thinking here? Anybody feel like relaxing before going out to Javier's?"

Sam picked up on the lead in. "Yeah, I'm pretty wiped after the parasailing. And after those face-plants you did on the skis I'm surprised Julia isn't carrying you. I could sure crash for an hour.." Connie smiled at him coyly.

Julia played along. "Dean, I have to go back to our room...I need something in there."

He nodded, flashed a Cheshire cat grin to his brother and the couple headed off. Sam and Connie got better acquainted while Dean and Julia wandered back to her room. When they arrived, he teased her. "So...what was so important that you had to come all the way back to pick it up?"

She grabbed him by the front of his shirt. "_You,_ stupid!"

* * *

><p>The four were nearly set to sleep through their invitation, but Dean was up and aware of the time. He grabbed a shower. Julia, after discovering the reason he insisted on keeping his tee shirt on all day, had melted with sympathy and concern. He'd had to quickly make up a reason for his wounds, and the only thing that came to mind was a black bear attack while camping. At least he came off brave and manly. And it fit...it plausibly explained the stitches he sported. She was dewy-eyed with admiration, he needn't have worried that his condition would be a detriment to his social life. On the contrary... When he explained that he was going to pull the stitches later, she shyly offered to do it. He thought her interest was really cool.<p>

Julia was careful, she followed his instructions and gently snipped and tugged each stiff little knot free from his skin. He was embarrassed on one level, but really turned on that she wanted to pay such intimate attention to him. He kept his ouches to a minimum for her benefit. When the last one was removed, she washed the place with warm water, and patted it dry. "Better-?"

He didn't speak, just pulled her closer.

* * *

><p>It was nearing nine when the four reunited. Sam had gotten directions to Javier's cottage, it was in a row of staff accommodation that was part of the resort holdings. They walked along, chatting pointlessly and laughing frequently. Javier spotted them, and hollered his welcome from his doorway. Music was already spilling out of the place, raucous guitars and a number of voices were battling for supremacy. Sam and Dean and the girls found seats and Javier handed a round of icy cervezas to them.<p>

"So...good time so far?" he shouted.

Dean nodded and raised his drink to him. "Good band!" he joked.

Javier laughed. "And still completely amateur! Hard to believe, heh?"

Javier's friends were a fun group; the music and beer flowed until late. Both the brothers and their companions had a memorable time. By the time things were winding down, and members of the impromptu band were separating and staggering for home, Dean and Javier were sitting outside on the porch, nursing a last bottle. With the quiet, conversation was finally a possibility, and Dean asked Javier about his brother.

"So Javier; you hang out with this brother of yours much nowadays?"

Javier's expression clouded. "Nah...I don't see him much any more."

"How come…is he far away?"

Javier sighed. "No, pretty close by, actually. But me and Elieis...we grew up rough, you know? My old man did what he could, but we never had no money…my mama died when I was twelve, and Eli was ten. Kids that young, they need a mother to keep them grounded, I think. Man, we were wild little bastards…. My Papa worked all the time so we never had alot of watching…nobody was at home to talk to, or to straighten us out when we got stupid ideas. And we had'm—me and Eli. We got into all kinds of shit, it's a miracle we even made it to this age. But you can do that when you're a kid...you can bounce back from everything. But after a while, you get older, and you start to feel it more. You start looking for something...I don't know, better, or different…something more solid, I guess. So we got older, maybe a little smarter, and after our misspent youth we both were looking for something more real to fill life. I found the kitchen, and Elieis; he found God. And Elieis is always right, and he doesn't mind telling you so. He got on my case about the church, how I live...all that. Now the only common ground we have is that we both shove things down peoples' throats…he does it with his religion and I do it with food, which, I think, is much more palatable." He smiled to soften his comment, but Dean could hear the pain in his words.

"Too bad." Dean said. "No chance you could patch it up and talk again?"

"Sure...maybe, someday. Elieis always was a passionate kid. No matter what it was that gripped his interest when we were growing up, he always threw himself into it 200%, without pausing to see the other side. He just finished his seminary studies, he was ordained about six months ago. I hear he shook things up a little...they gave him a church in the sticks somewhere to keep him occupied and harmless. But I guess it'll cool down. He'll mellow someday, and maybe we can visit then without coming to blows."

Dean nodded, saddened. To have a brother close, but separated because of different philosophies...it was a tragedy. "Javier..._man_, you two have gotta figure this out. Me and Sam, hell, half the time we want to punch each other's lights out, but I couldn't even imagine going on with out him. God...he and I are opposite in so many ways, but we finally figured it out enough where we could hang out without killing each other. Hey, it's not perfect; he still drives me nuts and I still make him pull out his hair. But he's family. Nothing's more important than that."

Javier turned away for a few moments. "Yeah." he sighed. "I know what you're telling me. But Christ, I just wanna talk to Elieis again. I wish bloody _Padre Herrera_ would take the day off every now and then."

Dean was silent for a while. Finally, he spoke. "Javier—you've gotta remember how close you were…but you've got to see that you're both different and separate too. Maybe you need to talk to Padre Herrera for a while...let him make his case. You don't have to agree with him, just let him say his piece. You said this is what he got hold of to keep his head above water, and it's a deep part of him now. He sees you reject that, and he thinks you're rejecting _him_. If he feels you're still with him after he does his Padre bit, I guarantee you'll see Elieis come out too. They're both parts of the same guy. You can't pick and choose what you want, especially with family. ...Now, I'm just a screwed up gringo tourist that doesn't have a home that ain't on four wheels, but one thing I understand is blood. My advice, for what it's worth, is figure out some place you can both sit comfortably…before you don't have the option anymore."

Javier listened. After a while, he nodded, smiling wryly. "Ok. Dee-Anne Landers, the advice lady, has opened my eyes. Too bad I'm so damned drunk, I'll never remember any of this tomorrow."

Dean got up shakily and patted his shoulder. "Yeah, you will. And if you don't—I'll remind you."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Father Elieis whistled to himself as he prepared his lunch. He was anxious for Lino to arrive, the caretaker was due in to work on patching the crumbling plaster of the church walls, a never ending task. He prayed his introduction to the man wouldn't be unpleasant, but he didn't hold out much hope. He'd seen his dour face glance in his direction several times, he'd smiled and nodded to him, but his overture had been met with a stony stare. And by all accounts, Lino Salazar was not a god-loving man. He worked for the church, but it was more by default than through any devotion. His father had been caretaker before him, and work was scarce; a man didn't refuse employment when it was handed to him. But despite his bitter demeanor, there was no ground for complaint regarding the job he did. Father Eli was eager to get his box of bones into the ground, and he would assign that task to Lino as soon as he turned up.

He finished his spartan meal and rose to wash his dishes. As he was occupied with that task, old Sister Crotilde had come into the church to bring the fresh linens. She shuffled in, humming her favourite hymn as was her habit, while she laid out the thread bare cloths on the altar. And as always, she made her way to the niche where San Mateo's relics were enshrined, lighting a votive and dropping fresh petals over the box. She knelt and prayed. Her routine of devotions continued, and she fumbled her way to the next place where she would do as she had always done, kiss the cool sculpted feet of her saints, praying to the statues for their intercession and their blessings.

Father Eli dropped his soapy plate on the flag-stoned floor when he heard the scream. It shattered into shards, he stepped over them and hastened to the church. There he found Sister Crotilde in a spitting fury, wailing and cursing over the empty spaces. Father Eli was shocked...never had he heard a woman use such words, even in his rough youth. To see this shriveled, toothless crone in such a state, he was momentarily speechless. "Sister, please—let me explain."

Sister Crotilde was frantically running her gnarled hands around the alcove of the last statue, searching for the familiar shape, and when it was clear to her that all of her precious saints were gone, she turned to the architect of her misery. She flew at Elieis and clawed and pummeled at him in weeping rage. He held her off, she weighed nothing and her blows were harmless. He tried to explain, to justify, but it only increased her fury, and her dry little voice rose into a shriek. Her words blended into a stream of syllables, Eli couldn't understand what she was saying, and finally she spat a gob of yellow phlegm onto his cassock and blindly fled the church. The priest stood, shaken in the silent aftermath. He knew she would react badly to his action, but he had never expected such vitriol. He wondered if he should go after her…

He was distracted by laughter. Lino Salazar stood in the doorway, chuckling in raspy, wheezing humour over the little vignette. Father Elieis took a shaky breath and drew himself up to appear somewhat authoritative...a hopeless wish, as Lino had witnessed the entire sordid exchange. "She's upset over the statues." Elieis offered pointlessly.

Lino snorted. "What did you expect? Those stupid things were everything in her miserable, pathetic life...did you think she would just accept this and bow to your holy wishes?"

Elieis stood in silence, his confidence wilting. "Do you think I should go find her and…and explain?"

Again Lino laughed, a gratingly unpleasant sound. "Why? You want your eyes scratched out? You're not going to win her over! Didn't you hear what that cow was saying? That old dried fish cursed you to hell. That's a mortal sin and she knows it, but she damned you to burn for what you did here today. Your flowery bullshit is not going to fix anything. You won't see her again." Lino turned away and set about preparing for his plastering. Elieis stood, stunned by his words, stunned by the whole ugly thing he'd caused. He had no response, and he turned and retreated to the sanctuary of his quarters.

After a few hours of contemplation and prayer, Father Elieis had come to some peace over what had happened. He regretted the effect on the poor old creature, but now, more than ever, he felt he was on the right path. He knew his method here was a little brutal, but this was important, and Sister Crotilde's reaction proved it. He needed to cut deep and fast to make the congregation understand the falseness of their practices here. His resolve was strengthened, and he sought out the caretaker again.

Lino was sleeping on a pew, taking a break between mixing his stucco batches. Elieis shook him awake.

"What? What do you want? I'm fixing it!" the older man growled.

Elieis ignored him. "Lino, never mind the walls for today. I have a more important task for you." He handed him the sealed shoebox. "I want you to dig a good, deep hole, in amongst the gravestones. Bury this box in it and fill it again after. That is all I require of you today. You may go home after this is completed."

The caretaker eyed him with distrust. "I need my full pay."

"Yes, yes, of course. I will count this day as a full work day. Do this last task and you may leave."

Lino took the box. He shook it roughly, causing the priest to cringe slightly. The caretaker smirked. He knew what was in the box. Bones…the bones from the gold shrine in the church. San Mateo's relics. He tossed it onto the pew. –_What did he care-? _The stupid priest was digging his own grave along with the precious Saint's. It meant nothing to him. "Si. I will go bury your box." He turned away from Father Elieis, shoved his plastering tools into a pile against the wall and stood, lighting a cigarette and grinning unnervingly at him. The young priest grew increasingly uncomfortable under the unpleasant stare, he tried to keep from dropping his eyes to the floor, but he couldn't stand it. He mumbled a thank-you and retreated to his rooms. Still smirking, Lino snorted in disgust, picked up the box and left.

Some time later, Lino entered the gate of the churchyard, tossing the box onto the ground. He retrieved a shovel from the shed and dug a hole into the hard dirt, just enough to show that the ground had been disturbed. Then he raked the spot a little with his fingers, as if he'd carefully tidied the burial. And finding his rusty bicycle, he picked up the shoebox, clutched it under his arm, and pedaled for home.

* * *

><p>The week sped by, as good times always seem to do. But the healing effect on the brothers' psyches was immeasurable. After the initial pink &amp; tender period, both were tanned tobacco brown. After their first companions had left for home, Dean was never without company, and he made sure they came in sets of two for Sam's sake. Javier was most impressed with the parade of pretty women they brought to his evening jam sessions. Dean didn't ask him again about his brother, he knew Javier had taken his advice to heart, and would act on it when he felt ready. Dean and he had become good friends…perhaps because they were both shaped by similar forces; both had grown up hard, and both played the protective older brother role. Dean had worked through his feelings that his brother had rejected him, Javier still had his to resolve. And both found a solace in talking about these things.<p>

On the second last evening of their official vacation, Dean and Javier were lounging on the porch. It was a quiet evening this time, and Javier was teaching Dean a few chords on his old six string. Sam snoozed on a hammock strung from the porch ceiling, and the other two smirked as he snorked and smiled in happy dreams.

Javier pointed his bottle at Sam. "That boy's a giant. You're gonna get flattened when he sees what you did."

Dean glanced over at his handiwork, chuckling. He'd taken a blue Sharpie marker and drawn his best curly-tipped Captain Morgan moustache on his slumbering victim. "Nah…I can still kick his ass any day of the week. And I'm pretty sure I can out-run him."

"Good." Javier snorted. "Did you get your picture?"

Dean waved his phone. "Oh yeah…priceless."

Javier drained the dregs from his Corona. He really enjoyed the company of these two…it took him back to the days when he and Elieis would sit outside on a hot evening, a stolen bottle of his father's tequila shared between them. They would talk for hours about their plans, in some charmed future where they would escape the boredom and poverty of the village and go out into the wide world. ...Hopes, dreams…crude stories..idle chatter…and of course, the teasing. He missed those times. He missed his brother.

Dean twanged some off-key non-chord and Javier winced at the aural offence.

"Santa Maria! You're hopeless!" he grimaced, snatching the guitar away and coaxing a far more pleasing sound from it. "Only you can make it cry out in pain like that!"

"Yeah, well...I don't have your soft woman hands." Dean protested.

Javier ignored him, closing his eyes and playing a gentle, traditional ballad. It was lovely, and exquisitely sad…but it was depressing the hell out of Dean. He got up and hovered over Sam, tipping the backwash from his bottle onto Sam's forehead a few drips at a time, until he swatted sleepily at it. After a moment of that, he was startled awake, and he sat up so abruptly that the hammock dumped him onto the porch.

"Asshole!" he groaned, accepting Dean's hand as the older man grinned at him.

Javier got up too, ushering them in as the mosquitoes began to be an annoying presence. By now, all three were yawning. Sam was making moves to head back to the room; he'd been on the wake board all afternoon and he was exhausted. He excused himself to go to the can.

"Wait for it—" Dean winked.

There was a blood-curdling howl from the bathroom and Javier and Dean nearly fell off the couch. The bathroom door was thrown wide, and Sam flew out and tackled Dean. Dean choked out laughter as he was being throttled, and Javier finally whistled hard and separated them.

"Kill him tomorrow, Sam," he laughed. "I don't wanna have to nail my furniture back together."

"Dude—you are so dead!" Sam warned, hauling Dean up off the floor.

"Relax, Sam, I got the fix." Jorge chuckled. He gave him olive oil and a dry loofah. "Scrub at it with this, it'll come off."

Sam threw a dagger-laden glance at Dean and returned to the bathroom. Javier laughed and shook his head. "Nice knowing you, my friend." he said to Dean.

The mirth was interrupted by the abrupt sound of a vehicle braking sharply in front of the house. Javier's grin faded, He looked at his watch; it was well past midnight.

"Expecting late visitors?" Dean asked quietly, instantly wary.

Javier shook his head. He pushed the curtain aside and looked out the window, but it was too dark, all he could see was a decrepit old pickup. Before he could get to the door there was a frantic pounding on it, and a rapid-fire stream of Spanish that Dean couldn't understand. But Javier did-

"Elieis!" He pulled the door open, and a man stumbled in, bloodied, and weeping incoherently. Dean and Javier caught him as he fell, and guided him to a chair.

"Elieis! Jesus, what happened?" Javier barked, holding the younger man's face and peering at him.

Dean saw him in good light now. He was still wearing a coarse cassock over his day clothes, and it was torn and spotted with dirt and blood. His face, a younger version of Jorge's, was bruised and swollen, tracks of tears evident in the dust on his cheeks. He cradled his left arm to himself, rocking as he sobbed his brother's name, and mumbled incoherently in Spanish. Dean shouted to Sam, telling him to bring towels and warm water.

Javier shook Elieis' shoulders. "Talk to me Eli! What happened? Who did this to you-?"

Shuddering, Elieis shook his head and covered his face. Javier looked to Dean in alarm. Dean poured a shot into a glass and forced the man to drink some of it, while Javier gently cleaned the blood and dust from his face with the water Sam brought. After a moment, he'd calmed enough to speak.

Javier urged him, "You're safe now, Elieis...tell me what happened."

The young priest looked at them with eyes that were dark with terror and grief. "Devils…demons...in my church." he finally managed, his expression crumpling in fresh tears.

"What are you talking about?" Javier demanded. "Stop speaking nonsense and tell me!"

Young Father Elieis took a deep breath and tried. "Javier, it's not madness, I swear to you ! I saw it; things flying about in the church, terrible sounds, the bible torn to pieces, the pages curled and burnt. And the Sister, Crotilde, she…she—" He abruptly bent double and vomited. Javier was growing wild eyed with concern, he held him until the retching subsided. "She's dead," Elieis croaked. "The Sister, her head was...smashed in. Just an old woman, blood and brains all over the flagstones. And the statues, all angry, they were _hissing_! The statues were back! I'm not crazy...not crazy! It was evil...I saw evil!"

Javier swore vehemently in frustration. Elieis was babbling more religious nonsense. Dean put a hand on his shoulder."Javier, wait—let him finish. He'll spit it out. " He crouched in front of the priest and spoke gently to him. "Elieis, my name is Dean. That's my brother, Sam. We're friends of Javier. I need you to tell me clearly what happened tonight, ok? We're all listening, we don't think you're nuts, just describe what went on."

This stranger's manner was calming to Elieis...it forced him to get a grip and try to speak like a sane person, instead of being a hopelessly emotional wreck in the protective presence of Javier. He wiped his tears away and nodded. Dean handed him a small glass of whiskey, and the young priest drained it, took a faltering breath and began his horrible tale.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"..I heard..strange crashes—noises, coming from my church. I was in my kitchen, writing my sermon before bed. Through my window I saw lights flickering in the nave. I thought…maybe some parishioner needed me, or perhaps kids, you know? Up to no good. I went in, and..." He swallowed hard, and crossed himself.

"Go on-" Dean coaxed.

"I know how I sound; like some drunk, yeah? But I swear it was like this! The candles were all burning. I'd already put them all out earlier, but they were burning furiously, wildly, as if whipped by a harsh wind. The bible was on the lectern where I'd left it. The pages were…fanning back and forth, tearing out and landing on the flames, burning to ashes in the air. …And the statues—" Elieis stopped, reliving the scene. Javier was pacing and cursing, frustration and anger radiating. Dean held him off. Elieis continued.

"I took the statues out of the church this morning. I put them away, locked them in a cupboard. It was my purpose...to show my parishioners that they did not need these false things to find God. These wood and plaster idols, they were distractions; they stood in the path of real faith. I put them away, out of sight. But the old nun, Sister Crotilde—she was very upset. When she discovered that they were gone she was enraged. She began weeping, and she cursed me to hell, and then fled. I prayed for forgiveness for her sin…she was distraught, she didn't know what she was asking for. And the relics, of San Mateo Alemann, the founder of our church…they belonged in holy ground, not in some golden box in the church. I had them buried in the graveyard. I was going to lead the people to a new way to God, without the reliance on these physical things. But then…then the Demon came. Such sounds, such terrible sounds as you have never imagined, Javier! Hissing, wailing!"

Dean exchanged a knowing look with Sam, who hovered beside. This was no demon, this was easy. To the experienced hunters, it was text-book. They were dealing with one decidedly unhappy spirit. What they had here was a pissed off old saint who was obviously upset over having been disturbed from his place of adulation.

Elieis found his voice again. "I went in…calling to God to bring calm to his sanctuary. It was then that I found her in the aisle. There were things strewn about…heavy things, and candles and books and stones were flying; thrown into the air, hitting me… And the Sister… One of her beloved saints had…had fallen from it's place and struck her. Her head was…splattered. I fled. I fled my church...I left her there, in all that horror!" He sat in wide-eyed silence, seeing it all again…loathing himself for causing it, for abandoning her and his church to the Devil.

Dean stood up and spoke quietly to Javier. "Javier, listen... Man, this is gonna sound so f~cked up, but I know what's going on here. We know what this is. Your brother's not crazy; this has nothing to do with demons—"

"Of course it doesn't!" Javier shot back, angrily. "He is crazy! All this bloody religion; he's lost his mind! Maybe some robber, or a vandal did this, but he won't believe it, his passion is driving him to this madness!"

Dean spoke sharply. "No! Look, Javier, just calm him down, check him over and get him ready to go to the clinic. I'll explain later, right now I have to talk to Sam."

Javier nodded tensely. He proceeded to pull off Eli's cassock and clothing, and he laid him back gently on the sofa, checking him over.

Dean took Sam aside. "So what do you think?"

"Pretty classic. Vengeful spirit."

"Yeah, that's what I figured. We've gotta find those bones and salt & burn them."

Sam agreed. "And the sooner the better, before any more faithful get their heads done in."

"What about the nun? He said she cursed him..."

Sam thought for a moment. "No, I don't think this fits. She was a nun, for shits sakes; she wouldn't have the right incantations, it would have been the last thing she would have had access to. I think her words were just an emotional outburst. I think the real problem is the relics…I mean, whatever was in that box was peacefully adored for who knows how long, and now, all of a sudden, this new guy comes in, full of ideas, full of change, and he takes them out of the shrine and buries them. No more hero-worship. Maybe San Mateo just can't deal with that."

Dean grunted. "Yeah...that sounds right. And even if the old nun did curse him, why would she end up the victim? I think you're on the right track. Now we just have to convince Javier."

"Why even bring him into it? He'll be busy getting Elieis checked over at the clinic. We could go without him and finish it."

That was exactly how Dean would have preferred it to go. But he knew that the young priest was tearing himself up over what had happened, and he needed to be brought into the loop for his own well being. Plus, they needed Elieis to show them where the bones were now buried. He said as much to Sam.

They rejoined Javier. Eli was muttering and weeping again, growing more distraught. "She cursed me! She brought the devil to punish me for this. It's my fault... I might as well have killed her with my own hands!"

Javier had stripped him of his ruined cassock and shirt, the poor young priest was bruised all over, his wrist clearly broken. "I need to get some fresh things for him, please watch him." Javier asked, heading to his bedroom. Sam nodded.

Alone for a moment with Elieis, Dean spoke to him quickly. "Elieis, look at me-"

The young priest raised his eyes.

"Good. Now listen carefully. My brother and I, we know what's happening in your church. I can't explain now, but your nun didn't bring any demon down on you, she wasn't involved. Are you following me?"

Elieis stared, then nodded.

"Ok. Now what's happening here is about those bones. It's not demons, it's not a curse, ok? Your patron saint is upset because his last remains have been disturbed. I know how that sounds, but you know what you saw, and we know how to fix it."

Elieis shook his head vehemently. "No..no! San Mateo was a good and holy man, a savior to these poor people! He would never harm them!"

Sam tried. "Yes, he was, but something has happened, something that is driving his gentle spirit to fury, and he's lashing out. His spirit isn't trying to hurt anyone in particular…Sister Crotilde was just an unfortunate casualty in this. Elieis, do you understand what we're saying? Dean and me; we know about this stuff. And we can bring your San Mateo back to peace. But you have to trust us."

Elieis wanted to believe, more than anything. But he wanted a solution that fit within the parameters of his faith, and these men spoke to him of ghosts. There were no ghosts, only God and the Devil, the living and the dead, heaven and hell and earth. He shook his head. "No...you are wrong. San Mateo is in the arms of Heaven. This...this thing; this is demon's work. I brought the Devil here, I made that poor old woman bring this on my church."

Dean too was losing patience. "Elieis, shut up and hear us out. We've seen every spirit you could think of, and we've seen demons. We've fought both and we're still here. We know the difference, ok? Now, I don't know anything about God and heaven and the rest of it; I leave that to people like you. But I know the other side. And I know how to deal with it. Let me tell you exactly how it went. You put away the statues, and nothing happened. Your nun freaked out, screamed at you and left. Still nothing. Then you went ahead and got rid of the relics. And that's when the shit hit the fan. Stuff flying around, weird noises—yeah, you already told us. But what about the church; it got real cold, didn't it, when you went in? When it was all going on, you could see your breath, it was that freezing…and this is freaking Mexico! Stop me if I'm off track..."

Elieis sat, stunned, finally nodding. Dean continued. "Did you smell sulphur, while you were in the church?"

"Sulphur..?"

"Like rotten egg; did you smell it?"

Elieis struggled to remember. "No No, only the wax, the burnt paper…nothing like that."

"Then there was no demon, Elieis. Demons always leave sulphur. What you have is an angry spirit. You said you had the bones buried, can you show us where?"

Javier had returned with fresh clothing, and had heard the exchange. He was furious, he shoved Dean roughly away from his brother. "What the hell are you doing? He's already crazy! Why are you telling him this bullshit?"

Dean kept his urge to strike back contained. He sighed with irritation, they always wasted precious time having to convince people while the spirits ran amuck. "Javier, I know how this sounds, but you have to believe me. Sam and me; we deal with this stuff all the time...it's what we do. Hell, you know what shape I'm in; how do you think I got so freaking shredded? I wasn't wrestling bears, I was fighting shit like this. And I'm telling you this; Eli here will never be able to go back into that church unless we find those bones, and salt and burn them. He'll never find his precious peace again, Javier. Is that what you want?"

Javier shook his head, in angry confusion. But he knew the last part was true; the church was everything to Eli now. I they didn't fix whatever this was, his brother would be a broken man. And as his protector, he couldn't stand to see that happen. "He has to go to the hospital, or at least the clinic. Look at him, he's a mess, and his arm is broken!"

"Yes-, the clinic first, Javier." Sam intervened. "Then we'll all go back to Elieis' church. You can decide for yourself then if we're just a couple of liars or freaks. But we're the only ones who can fix this thing, and it won't hurt anything to try, right?"

Javier stood for a moment, staring from Elieis to the brothers. Finally he let loose a stream of Spanish epithets. "Fine! We'll go to the goddamned church. I must be as insane as the rest of you!"


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The brothers waited outside in the car as Javier brought Elieis in to get medical attention. It gave them some time to discuss the situation, and plan. Sam was on board with helping to deliver Javier's brother of this terrible situation, but he was realizing now that there was certainly the potential for harm, and he'd vowed it as his mission to avoid this very thing for a while...at least until Dean had a chance to regain his strength and health. But here they were again, in the thick of it. There was no turning back, of course; neither one of them had it in him to abandon someone in the middle of such a problem when they were well equipped to solve it. _But damn it, he didn't want this now... _Sam also knew that it was fairly irrelevant how he felt about it. This was happening here and now, and there was no turning away. Javier was a friend, and his brother Elieis needed them. But he had to ask...

"Dean...I know we can't ignore this…but are you… I mean, this is serious, dangerous. The whole point of coming here was to relax and heal up decently, before we got into any new crap."

Dean sighed with irritation. "What do you want from me, Sam? We didn't ask for this job, but here it is. You want to just bail on these guys? Javier has been a good friend to us this whole week. He's had us over every night practically. And he and I...we talked a lot about everything; about being the older brother, about family, about…about loss. So you go ahead and do what ever the hell you want, I'm not gonna let those two head into this without my help!"

"Dude, would you smooth the hackles down? I wasn't saying we should leave them to deal with this alone! I just wanted to make sure this was what you wanted. I mean, things have been really rough, lately. I just wanted for us to...I dunno, take some time to get strong again, to be normal...especially after what happened in Texas."

Dean regretted his reaction. Of course Sam would never suggest ducking a hunt when there were people at risk. But he hadn't realized _why_ Sam had been so intent on seeing them do the vacation thing seriously. Sam was worried for him…for his state of health. …And it drove him nuts.

"Ok, I get it! Look, I'm fine, Sam. I appreciate the concern, but Javier, and Eli; they need us. And who knows how many others will get hurt if we don't. So don't worry about me, alright? I can manage this."

Sam rubbed a hand over his face. _-Fine. He's always fine._ Things this past week had been so good, why the hell this...why now? But he knew he had to let it go. It was, after all, what they did. He simply nodded.

Javier and Eli finally emerged from the clinic. The young priest had a bright new cast on his arm, and several bandages. But at least he looked a bit better. The deer-in-the-headlights expression had lessened. Dean rolled down the window. "He's ok?"

"Yeah." Javier answered, as he ushered Elieis into his car. "Bruises, and a broken wrist; nothing life-threatening. Are you sure you want to go out to the mission tonight? We could wait, he'll surely come to his senses in the morning."

Dean swore. "No! Javier, we have to see what the hell's going on out there; people already are hurt, and worse. Just tell him to direct us, we'll follow you."

Javier growled something in spanish and nodded with a frown, and he pulled ahead of the Impala.

* * *

><p>The drive was tedious and long. After leaving the luxuriant growth of the coast, it was hours of dry, poor farmland. Finally the mission bell tower loomed in the dimly lit distance. There were flashes of eerie light coming from the church's tiny windows. It didn't bode well.<p>

"Turn on the EMF, Sam." Dean directed. Sam found the unit and switched it on as they slowed to a stop in front of San Mateo's sanctuary. It lit up like a Christmas tree.

"Whoa!" Dean exclaimed, parking. "Guess _that_ covers any doubts!"

"No kidding!" Sam mumbled in agreement.

They exited the car and stood beside Javier's vehicle. Elieis was cowering in the passenger seat, speechless at the terrible display flooding from his church. He turned, wide-eyed, to his big brother. "You see, Javier..? You see this evil? It spills out into the night as we speak!"

Javier snorted. "It's just your stupid candles! The wind is blowing them, look; some vandal has broken the glass in the windows!" He got out, ordering his brother to remain in the car. He walked toward the Winchesters as they stood, hearing the high-pitched scream of the EMF. "What is that?" he demanded.

"This picks up electromagnetic surges." Sam answered. "Spectral activity usually generates energy...this detects it."

Javier snarled something and stalked to the church entrance.

"Wait!" Dean barked. "Javier!"

Javier ignored him and pulled open one of the old, flaking doors. Dean caught up to him as Javier stopped short and stared. Inside, the church was a ruin. Everything that had been laid carefully and neatly in its place was dislodged, every book, every candle-stand. Stones from the crumbling wall were strewn about, along with the dust and grit of failed mortar. And the statues were there.. Well, some were; others were lying in pieces on the floor, and on the splintered wooden pews. "Jesus-!" Javier muttered. Whoever it was that had assaulted Elieis, they'd laid waste to the place.

Dean grabbed him and pulled him back. "Javier, get back to Eli! It's not safe!"

"Don't be stupid! The vandals, they're long gone!" He shrugged him off and headed further in. The nun lay where she's died, at the front of the centre aisle. He walked toward her body, glancing around at the damage. The brothers had no choice but to follow. Suddenly the temperature plummeted. Javier turned to speak to them, but instead he yelped in warning. He had no chance to verbalize; the sounds drowned it out. A crescendo of hissing rose, gathering in intensity and culminating in an unearthly wail. He shot a WTF expression toward Dean, and Dean roared back as the rubble and debris rose and spun around them.

"Out! Get out!" Dean shouted, ducking and trying to avoid being struck by the things flying faster and faster. The trio bolted for the open door. Sam almost made it through first when it slammed shut with a violence that shattered the plaster from the doorframe. He yelled, his left hand caught, and he pounded his shoulder against the wood until it gave way and freed his fingers.

Dean pulled him back, and shouted over the din, "You ok-?"

Sam shook his head, cursing impressively, as he gripped his bleeding fingers. He was glad they were still attached to his hand. Dean would have insisted on seeing, but he had his own problems. Javier was screaming now; a heavy, brass curtain rod had pulled free of the wall where it had held an old embroidered banner. It struck the bewildered man across the head, dropping him; and as if held by some invisible hand, it continued to beat him as he lay on the stones. He covered up as well as he could. Dean leapt forward and grabbed the thing, ramming it under the closest kneeler, where it bucked and rattled violently against its restraint. He hauled Javier back up, and half dragged him toward the doorway as Sam threw his weight against the planks. Dean threw his own shoulder against them, and finally the door gave way, spilling them out onto the dust. They stumbled back to a safe distance.

"What...what the bloody hell was that?" Javier panted, as he pressed his hand against the bludgeoned crown of his head.

Dean was already tending Sam's crushed hand. He glanced up. "That's your brother's imaginary spirit!" he growled.

Sam swore a blue streak as Dean straightened his bleeding fingers from their dislocated positions.

"At least it's your left." he said, leading him to the Impala trunk to retrieve the first aid kit.

"Oh yeah! No freaking problem then!" Sam retorted angrily, cradling his throbbing hand.

Javier stood still, staring with disbelief at the church as the sounds of crashing and wailing continued to echo from it. Elieis left the car and stood beside him.

"Now you believe me." Eli said, in quiet horror.

Javier continued to stare as stones rattled loose and fell from the bell tower. "Holy Mother of Christ, Elieis..." he muttered, "What have you got yourself into now!"

* * *

><p>Dean had wrapped Sam's hand tightly. "You'd better check Javier out." Sam said, glancing at them. Dean nodded and joined the Herrera brothers as they stood, watching the spectacle.<p>

"Better let me see that." he said, pointing to the trickle of red trailing down from Javier's black hair. Javier tore his eyes away from the building and let Dean lead him to their car. Dean swiftly looked him over. "Nice cut...no goose-egg yet." He dabbed at it and stuck a couple of band-aids on it. Dean was an efficient field medic, but his bedside manner left much to be desired. "So, Javier...any questions?" he snorted.

Javier pulled out a cigarette and lit it with a shaking hand. He took a deep drag, exhaling slowly before he spoke. "Ok… So you and Elieis aren't crazy. This isn't a robbery, it isn't vandals. So _what,_ then? What the hell do we do now?"

Dean was blunt. "Find those leftover dried-up Saint bits and torch'em. The spirit will be released and the church will be safe."

Javier looked at him like he's lost his mind.

"Don't!" Dean growled, "Don't you give me that goddamned _look_. I don't question your cooking, so don't you question what I know. You want to deal with this on your own? Well you go right ahead. I'm on freaking vacation!"

Neither noticed as Elieis walked away, drawn toward his stricken church. He'd seen enough tonight...he'd seen blood and death and horror. And now Javier had been hurt, and the one called Sam…. All his fault… _It had to stop-_ He walked through the open door, silently praying for God's protection, and calling out to San Mateo. The iron bell began to clang wildly as the tower's crumbling mortar rained down..

"Dean!" Sam shouted, interrupting the exchange and pointing. Both Dean and Javier swore and the trio started running as Eli disappeared into the church. They were met by a violent whirlwind of debris now. They ducked as well as they could, but were pelted by the things as Dean pushed through and tackled Elieis. Elieis was shouting over the din, crawling now, begging San Mateo's forgiveness. The church air grew icy...the Saint was not inclined to turn the other cheek. The sound intensified as Dean and Javier pulled at Eli, trying to haul him back to safety as Sam pushed hard against the rattling doors to keep them from being trapped.

"No!" Eli screamed, fighting them off, "Let me go! It's _me_ he wants! Let me atone for what I've brought on this place!"

Javier hauled back and punched him hard on his chin, and Elieis went limp. He and Dean dragged frantically on his dead weight as the bell rang harder, swinging back and forth in maniacal fury, the rope whipping like a serpent as the iron yoke began to tear loose from its mooring.

The brittle old stonework gave way. The heavy iron bell broke free and dropped with a shower of stone and dust just as they managed to pull the priest outside. The silence that remained in the wake was deafening.

Javier and Dean choked and coughed at the dust that filled their eyes and lungs, Eli still out cold between them. They looked up as the stones from the weakened tower began to shift. Dean's shout of warning was lost in a roar and rush of air, as the structure gave way and the stonework tumbled down. They covered their heads as errant pieces struck and bloodied them, until the collapse was complete and they were left in swirling, dusty quiet. Dean struggled to his feet, wiping blood and grit from his eyes.

He stood in momentary shock as the realization hit him... "Sam-?"


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Dean stumbled over the chaos of stone in his way, coughing and falling to his knees. The air was thick with the chalk ground out by the tower's destruction. He crawled forward, and frantically began to claw away the debris. The bell tower was a ruin, only half-walls remained. The iron yoke that once held the bell, it's wheel still attached, was down and protruding from the rubble. The rope was a tangle between the stones. Dean called out to Sam as he worked, stopping to listen breathlessly for any response. Nothing reached his ringing ears.

Checking to see that Elieis was unscathed, Javier shook the cobwebs from his brain and joined him. He was sure that the young man was crushed somewhere under the pile of stones and timbers. The two dragged and rolled the stones and splintered beams away, clawing their hands bloody until at last, a bit of brightly coloured cloth, chalked with dust, was revealed. Dean's hands found tanned skin, and he brushed until he reached Sam's wrist. He pressed trembling fingers against it, relieved beyond words to find a pulse.

"Is he...? Javier asked.

"Alive-!" Dean answered. He pulled more rubble away, revealing a section of wooden steps. They were jammed at an angle, wedged against the remainder of the wall. Sam's head and shoulders were covered by them, and by sheer luck they had protected him from the falling stones. Dean and Javier pulled hard until the section came free, and they lifted it and shoved it aside.

"Sam!" Dean cried, wiping his brothers face free of grit. "C'mon, Sammy, it's me! Sam!"

Javier worked at freeing the rest of him, as Dean tried feverishly to get a response. Finally he was rewarded with a groan. Dean nearly cried when he heard it.

"I'm here, Sam! We're getting you out of here !"

Sam turned his head and squinted at his brother. "Dean…"

"Where are you hurt? Can you tell me?" Dean didn't dare move him.

"uh.. I…I dunno." He didn't finish, he gasped, grasping Dean's wrist as Javier began to tug at the bell wheel.

"Stop!" Dean barked, halting Javier. He couldn't see the problem yet, but clearly the activity hurt Sam. The iron bell was still half covered, the yoke was lying across Sam's calf, the large wheel keeping the full weight of the bell from crushing his leg. When Javier moved it, the yoke pressed down harder against the pinned limb. Sam gripped his brother's arm hard, shuddering with the pain. Javier carefully removed the remaining debris so that they could see what they were dealing with. The iron frame dug into the back of Sam's leg. In the poor light, Dean could see dark blood staining the grey dust on his skin. He was sure too, that the ankle below the yoke was out of line with the rest of his leg; it was surely broken.

Sam's face was screwed tight in agony. He swore, his hold on Dean's wrist tightening. "Don't! Don't move it!" he panted.

"Ok, Sam, it can sit for a minute but we have to lift it off or you're stuck here. Are you hurt anywhere else—your back, or neck?"

Sam nodded slightly, his hand slipping away from Dean's arm now. He was weakening, the black mist in the periphery of his vision creeping in.

"Where, Sammy? Tell me!"

-_everywhere_—he thought. The effort to speak was too costly, and Sam slipped into unconsciousness.

The doors that led from the tower into the church had begun to rattle again. It seemed San Mateo wasn't finished. He was still enraged at the affront, his fury gaining strength again. Dean glanced fearfully at Javier. "We've gotta move!"

"That bell must weigh at least five hundred!" Javier said grimly. "We can lift it better with Eli..." He got up and returned to his brother, who was sitting up where he'd left him, bewildered. .

"Get up!" Javier said harshly. "We need you to help, your precious Saint dropped his bell on one of them!"

Eli got to his feet, clutching his brother's shoulder to steady himself. He could see the flaring light of the votives through the windows, forming hideous, dancing shadows on the ground. "No, Javier—I have to go in, I must quiet the spirit. God will-"

Javier slapped him hard. "Screw your ghost, and your god! You can't help him now, and you have a _living_ man to save!"

Elieis was shocked into clarity, he nodded. -_Priorities—yes-_

Dean spoke to Sam, warning him that they were going to move it, hoping Sam still couldn't hear. The trio each took hold of a part. Dean, standing over Sam, had the top of the yoke, Javier and Elieis each gripped an edge of the bell. The doors were flying open and closed, pounding rabidly against the pile of rock that blocked them. They caught glimpses of the inside, a howling whirlwind of church goods pelting the walls. The joinery of the woodwork was beginning to separate. Any moment now, the doors could give way and they'd be facing the mayhem that reigned behind them. Dean shouted over the rising noise, "On three—"

On the third count they hoisted the bell straight up, a few hard-won inches, each man straining under the heavy weight. They stepped away clumsily, and dropped it, and Dean scrambled back to Sam's side. Sam was stirring, moaning now. Dean grabbed the fabric of his shirt and pulled him free, stumbling. Javier pushed him aside gently, grabbed Sam under his arms and dragged him back to the car as Eli followed. Once at the car's side and safely out of the angry saint's reach, Elieis brought the med kit from where it had been left on the hood. They splinted and bound Sam's injury as he groaned and cursed weakly, but he nodded in agreement when Javier asked if they could move him into the back of the car. They got him in, preparing to speed to the local hospital. Sam raised his head, wincing, "Where's Dean-?"

"Right here." Javier assured him.

While Elieis tended to Sam, Dean had been leaning heavily against the Impala's back fender. The pain he'd ignored while they'd worked to free his brother claimed all his attention now. He was breathing fast, as a sickening ache intensified. His vision swam. Alarmed, Javier spoke to him. He looked up, dazed, not hearing the words. He never heard Javier's shout to Eli. He slipped soundlessly to his knees, swaying for a moment, before falling forward. Javier leapt to catch him before he hit the gravel.

* * *

><p>Sam stayed alert for the rough ride to the hospital. He would have loved to be unaware, but his concern for his fallen brother would never allow it. Thankfully it wasn't too far, although at first glance the facility resembled anything but a place of healing, and no one would have blamed them for passing on it in favour of continuing to the city. But Sam was bleeding and in considerable pain, and they had no idea yet what ailed his brother. Dean hadn't stirred since Javier picked him up from where he'd collapsed. Javier himself was nursing several badly bruised places, harsh reminders of their rocky evening. Elieis drove ahead of them since he alone knew the way.<p>

Javier parked the Impala, scattering several stray cats. "Stay there, Sam. I'll get somebody."

"Yeah." Sam ground out. Alone with Dean, he pushed himself up to where he could reach him. "Dean…?" He shook him gently. When he got no response, he pulled himself up further, running his good hand through his brother's sticky hair. He felt a large raised bump, and there was no question he would have a concussion. He prayed it wasn't a fracture. Dean did stir now, with a groan of protest. Javier returned with help, and the brothers were taken from the car to be assessed. They were nearly refused treatment without prepayment, but Eli was able to dissuade them, and his position as the parish priest was, for the first time that evening, a benefit rather than a curse.

* * *

><p>They were separated for a long time. Sam was stitched and had his broken fibula set and a cast applied. His mangled fingers were splinted. It was agreed all around that it was a miracle he hadn't gotten his head bashed in. He asked anxiously about Dean.<p>

Satisfied that Sam would mend, Javier went out to find out how the elder brother had faired. He found him, sitting wearily on the side of a bed. His head and torso were wound with gauze, and he was arguing uselessly with a doctor who spoke only Spanish. Javier intervened. After hearing the man out, he translated.

"He says you must stay, you have perhaps some cracked ribs, and plus you are concussed. He won't allow you to leave, you need to be observed, for your own good."

Dean raised his head to Javier and growled angrily, "Tell him to _bite_ me! I'm fine and I want to see Sam!"

Javier tried to reason with him. "Sam is patched up now. He has a cast, but he can go home. You need to stay, Dean; just overnight. Your injuries are-"

"Are not gonna kill me, Javier. I can't afford to stay here, and we have work to do. We have to make that church safe before anybody else gets their brains mashed out. You know damn well that the tower collapse will bring people out, and that Saint is still freaking out in the church. How many more times do you want to be hauling people out here?" He stopped and grimaced, catching his breath sharply, as his left side and back reminded him of why he was sitting there. He lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper. "Look, tell him we're broke. I'm leaving...ask him what we owe." He stood up, gripping the edge of the bed until he was sure he could stay that way. Javier shook his head, but he knew Dean well enough now to realize that when he made up his mind, there was no argument. He spoke rapidly to the doctor, who finally threw up his hands in defeat and stalked out.

"Ok Dean, you win, you stubborn bastard. Are you sure you can make it back to the car? You want some help?"

"Just…let me hang onto your shoulder for a bit, 'til I'm steady. I gotta go find Sam."

Javier supported him and they found where Sam was. Sam was being fitted for crutches, he looked up with concern at his brother's haggard face. "What's the damage, Dean?"

"Couple of ribs. Got a freaking ostrich egg on my skull. Other than that it's all good…what about you?"

"Two broken fingers…and _this_-" He pointed to the fresh, damp cast. "They stitched me up. Looks like I'll be hopping for six weeks."

"Huh. That sucks." Dean grunted, sitting down carefully with a heavy sigh. "But you were damned lucky. If that piece of stair hadn't landed where it did..."

_Lucky_ was the last thing Sam felt at the moment, but he nodded in agreement.

* * *

><p>Javier left them to go in search for Elieis. He found him, in a ward filled with wrinkled old faces, the ancient elderly, abandoned here and awaiting death. He'd passed the room earlier, catching a glimpse of their depressed faces, staring dully at nothing, some weeping with loneliness. He watched his brother make his rounds, speaking gently to each one of them, holding their gnarled and papery old hands as they beamed happily at his comforts. He blessed each one of them, and Javier could see the immensely positive effect it had, and he saw Eli's genuine smile. It was a side he'd never seen of Elieis. He stepped back, and waited until he was finished.<p>

"Elieis," he said quietly. The young man nodded and joined him in the hallway. "Did you get yourself checked over?"

Eli nodded. "Just a few new bruises. How are your friends?"

"Banged up. Sam has a cast now, his brother Dean was hit by the stones, it hurt his ribs. They should stay here but both insist that we leave now."

"Oh. Is this wise?" Elieis felt a piercing guilt; they would be fine now if he hadn't returned to the church.

Javier snorted. "Of course it isn't wise. _You_ go tell them that. They seem to think that your Saint must be appeased tonight, before any more tragedy happens. I tell you, Eli; if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes…."

Eli stared at the floor tiles as they walked. The whole business terrified him…not because they were dealing with any ghost, but because it flew in the face of everything he knew, everything he'd embraced and built his life on. "These brothers...they say they know how to do this, to put San Mateo to rest. You believe this?"

Javier shrugged. "Elieis, I don't know what to believe after tonight. You can pray all you want to fix it, but I know this; they're ready to put their own lives in danger to try and I think that is a telling thing, and we should do what we can to help them."

They met Sam and Dean in the foyer. Eli wanted to cry when he saw them, but he kept a grip on himself. Crying was useless, they needed support and facilitation now. He silently asked for them to be blessed, knowing that the present company would object to him hovering over them, tracing the cross on their foreheads. He hoped God was awake and listening.

* * *

><p>Dean asked to travel with Elieis. Eli choked out tearful apologies for half the ride, until Dean barked at him to stop. He told him to get over it, he already had. He wanted to talk to the priest, to explain all he knew of vengeful spirits, and how to release them. Eli listened quietly, absorbing it all. In the end, he decided that perhaps it didn't completely clash with his beliefs. After all, these confused souls were destined to go to heaven, or hell as the case may be, but they were halted in their path by circumstances beyond their control. He felt that San Mateo was probably always in the church, benignly watching over the people, as long as his bones remained in the shrine. He was never able to join his God, because his remains kept him here. And now, something had happened, something that clearly put his soul in torment. He had to ask.<p>

"Dean...I don't understand. I had the bones buried in blessed ground. This is as it should have been…why would he object to this?"

His choice of words caught Dean's attention. "You had them buried? Eli, are you telling me you didn't bury them yourself?"

Eli looked down in shame. "I…I was full of my own importance. Like a pompous ass, I swept into my new church, announced to the people that things would be changed, and then I passed that task off to the caretaker. But I saw the place, the soil was dug, the ground neatly raked after…"

"But you never saw the bones go into the ground?"

"No."

Dean swore quietly. There had to have been a break in the chain. Those bones were not in that ground, for god-knows-what reason. They were somewhere else…

"Elieis, we have to go talk to your caretaker, now!"


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

After the endlessly rough and comfortless drive back, the four were more than ready to give in to their exhaustion and start fresh in the morning. Javier ushered everyone into his cottage, brooking no argument from anyone. Dean was all for heading back to the church, but he was finally convinced that at this time, no one would be out and in danger. Morning would be another story, they'd have to get back there at the crack of dawn, before word got out about the tower's fall. If a crowd of curious do-gooders gathered, the angry saint would add to his list of victims and the toll would be much higher.

Dean saw Sam to a room, staying up until his brother was asleep. Javier set him up on a sofa, offering him blankets and the option of a stiff drink, which he accepted. Javier sipped at his own, contemplatively. _So many questions..._ "So...you hurt bad..?" Javier asked quietly, uncomfortable at prying.

Dean shrugged and winced. "Nothing new, Javier. It'll pass." He drained his glass and Javier refilled it. "Me and Sam; we see stuff like this alot...and we get the crap kicked out of us more often than we'd like, but hey; we chose this job. No point in bitching about it."

Javier nodded slightly. He was still reeling from his evening, the things he'd witnessed, and the knowledge that others, like the Winchesters, dealt with this regularly. All he could do was take his new friend's word that this was real, and this problem was solvable. He looked at Dean for a moment. After everything they'd seen and felt, this man was nonplussed. Most people would have been blubbering in fear and panic, but this one sat, shrugging off his wounds, and matter-of-factly discussing strategy to lay this violent and angry ghost to rest. He shook his head. He thought he'd seen everything, thought he had an answer for most things. Apparently it was all a bit more complicated.

"So what now?" he asked.

Dean sighed and leaned back. "Now...we find this idiot caretaker. Eli gave him the job of burying the bones, but I'm guessing he didn't. So now we have to track him down, and find out where the hell those body parts ended up. That saint is obviously pissed to the point of not realizing what he's doing...I'm pretty sure it's all about where his last bits have ended up. Hell, he's been trapped peacefully in his gold box for at least a century, everybody loving him, everybody paying respect. Now all of a sudden something changed. We have to find out what, and fix it."

"Fix it... like how?"

"Find the last remains and salt & burn'em. That's how you break the tether. San Mateo can't move on to the next level because his body, whatever's left; is keeping him tied down. I guess he didn't mind before, but now he's lost whatever noble reason he had for hanging around, all he can see and feel is betrayal and dishonour. Until we fix that, he'll keep on freaking out until half the congregation gets wiped out and the other half takes off in terror. It's a crappy way to go out for a man who did so much in the living years to help his people."

Javier scowled. He hated this...hated that Elieis was a part of it. He had no understanding of spirituality, he only understood what his own eyes told him, what he could feel with his own two hands. Eli and he used to be so close...so kindred. How could his little brother have surpassed him in these things? Why was Eli touched by this? Why had God called him? And why did He have to claim the only thing Javier had and needed more than anything; his own brother? He didn't understand it, and he didn't want to. He was an outsider now, and he and Eli had been so connected; together a solid front against their painful youth. God had scooped his brother up and taken him away, leaving Javier to muddle through alone.

* * *

><p>Elieis had been praying. He emerged from Javier's room, haggard and in pain. When he saw that Dean and Javier were still up, he sat beside them. Javier poured him a drink. Eli sighed and spoke. "Javier...Dean; I... Well, thank-you, to start with. You saved me, you pulled me away from the angry spirit. After what happened to Sister Crotilde, I have no doubt that I owe you my life."<p>

Both men shrugged. It was Dean who responded. "Yeah, well, nevermind that, Eli; we have to figure out how we're going to appease that old Saint. We have to find out what happened to his remains. Do you have some way to get a hold of that caretaker?"

"I have his address; there is no phone. But I saw the burial place...why would he do this?"

Javier rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Eli; did you do _everything_ Papa asked of you when we were kids? No! If there was a way around it, we found it. He probably thought he'd save himself some sweat and just pretend to dig. Those bones could be anywhere!"

Once again, Elieis was reminded that his status as priest was, after all, no guarantee of respect. He should have seen that. Lino had been a caustic presence since they'd met; of course he would shirk that duty. Eli should have seen to it himself. He offered what he knew. "I gave him the bones, in a cardboard box. I sent him to bury them, then dismissed him for the day. I thought...I thought he would take care of this task, and it would be a good thing. I thought he would do his best, in exchange for the rest of the day off..."

Javier swore angrily. "Elieis, what the hell happened to you in that seminary? You grew up knowing how lousy people are, how they'll all take what they can get from you. Did your eyes get so filled with joy that you forgot the real world? "

Eli became defensive. "Javier, don't mock what I have. I've found a little beauty in this soulless world; why do you always want to deny me this? No, I don't forget how it was, although I've tried and tried, believe me! I just thought this was a simple thing for a man who was paid to do many such things for my church. Lino Salazar is the caretaker, he fixes the building, he tidies the grounds, and he digs the holes for the dead. It's his job, it's how he earns a wage!" He sat down, tired and angry and hurt. "And yes, it was stupid and arrogant, I should have done it myself. Maybe...maybe I should have done it all differently. Maybe my Saint would still be a benefactor, instead of this tortured fury undoing all the goodness of his life."

Dean interrupted. "Shut-up, both of you. It's late, we all feel like crap. Eli, we'll fix this in the morning, ok? Right now we need some sleep, and you're all bitching in my bedroom!"

Javier nodded. "Yes, of course. We will sleep, and then in the morning, we find this Salazar fool. Agreed?"

Elieis nodded. The trio separated, wearily hoping to escape from their pains and terrors for a few hours.

* * *

><p>Morning came too quickly. All of the combatants were stiff and tired, and feeling the aching results of their battles mere hours ago. Javier was the least harmed, he was up first and brewing coffee. Dean was next, he accepted the cup he was handed, and gingerly pulled himself up with Javier's help. It was 5:30...the sky was already beginning to glow with the pending heat. Javier watched him, noting how tired he looked. "Dean...are you sure we should go out there this morning? Maybe it will be over by now, maybe the ghost will have spent it's anger and-"<p>

Dean interrupted him with a weary sigh. "Nope, doesn't work that way. I wish it did, Javier. But if we don't get out there and burn those bones, somebody else will get hurt...maybe some kid, or another old lady looking for her daily blessing. Or Eli. He's gonna try to undo this on his own, you know it, and he doesn't understand what he's up against. But me and Sam; we _do_ understand. As soon as we locate that box, your brother can go back into his church and start to repair it, maybe repair his life. It's not just the building that's broken down right now. Eli saw some things that he'll never forget, and he's gotta somehow find a comfortable place with all that. You saw it too, Javier, but that church, and those people, that's what Eli chose to float him. We can fix what happened, but you're gonna have to help him through the rest of it."

Javier nodded, as Elieis joined them. The young priest made a sign of the cross to them, wincing at the movement. Javier ignored the gesture and went to the kitchen to pour him a coffee. Eli sat down. "How do you feel, Dean?"

Dean snorted. "Ask me later, Eli. What about you? How's the arm?"

Eli examined his cast. "Sore. But nothing I can't handle, with God's help. ...Dean, I'm glad you were here with us, while this happened. I was awake, most of the night, thinking. I believe you were sent here, it was part of the plan. Javier doesn't understand now-, but I know that God brought us all here together, for this trial. Our faith has been tested, but now we will make things right for San Mateo. And Javier will see; he will see the right way, the true path. He will mend his ways and see all the good works that God is doing...he will stop fighting me and-"

Dean turned away with an angry growl. He did not feel well, and it was too bloody early in the day for the sales-pitch. "Hey, _Padre_; give it a rest, alright? If your God wants to put in his time for a change, that'd be just great. But so far I haven't seen a hell of a lot of his input down here. And don't tell me about how I'm just not seeing it, or my mind is closed, or my heart is hardened! That's bullshit! I don't need all the freaking riddles and _mysterious ways_ crap, cuz Hell is working hard to bring this place down and they're not hiding it behind any smoke & mirrors!"

"You have no faith-"

"You're damned right I don't! Elieis, I've seen demons, and not _inner_ ones, the real thing, in the flesh. I've battled them and sent some of'em back to hell, and I've got the scars to prove it. I didn't have to have faith to see and feel what they were doing to me, so why the hell do I have to close my eyes and pretend there's just as much good being done by your side? Tell me why Heaven can't just snap its fingers and fix some of this garbage? Tell me why's it's always up to me?"

Elieis had no answer. Dean swore to himself, surprised by his own emotional reaction to the subject. He got up and walked away from the young priest, leaving him alone. Outside, in the early morning breeze, he rubbed angry tears from his eyes. He hadn't wanted to get into it with him...he never let his mind stray down this path, it was too upsetting, and he had to keep a tight lid on the well of bitterness he felt or it would be too hard to get up every morning and carry on. The Impala gleamed in the early light, dusty but still shining in the warming mist. Seeing it calmed him a little, he opened the door and slid behind the wheel, and he tried to derail his painful emotions and think of more pleasant things. After some time, Eli approached hesitantly, and sat beside him.

He sighed. "I'm sorry. There's a lot I don't know...and lately I am reminded of it at every turn." He stared out the windshield for a little while. "Dean...I grew up hard, very hard. And as I got older, the troubles threatened to be a heavy burden. Javier doesn't know the half of it. But when I hit rock bottom, there was a man, a priest, who helped me. I don't know your experiences, you've seen things that I pray I never will. All I can tell you is that, without my belief, I would be dead now, maybe in hell, I don't know. I needed something good to believe in or I was going to suffocate in filth. Sometimes I forget that others have different perspectives. I want to save them all, like I believe I was. I want to save Javier."

Dean turned to him. "Elieis...Javier doesn't need saving, he needs a brother. He's a good guy, and all he wants is to have his family back. He said you were his best friend growing up, he misses that. You have to widen your parameters; he's not heading for damnation. He might make your God frown every once in a while, but he's not gonna get struck by lightning any time soon. So ease up, that's my advice. I nearly drove Sam away before I figured out how to let him be himself and still keep my own views intact. There's a bigger picture here; a way bigger battle. I seriously doubt that god's sweating the few minor sins that people like Javier and me look forward to committing daily, when there's _real_ evil lurking in every shadow. Just step back a bit...remember who you are, but remember who you were too."

Elieis nodded finally.

Dean had a question for him in return. "Elieis...what was it? After the way you grew up, after all the stuff you saw and did...what woke you up to see the light?"

Eli looked at him, afraid that Dean was mocking him, but all he saw was earnestness. "Oh...well, I'm afraid it wasn't any thunderbolt from the sky, no booming voice of God. It was...pretty ordinary, I suppose. I was drunk out of my skull, and I was in an alley. I was arguing with a couple of men over terms; they wanted me to do something, and my high was wearing off, I needed something to keep it going. So I went into the cathedral and did what they paid me to. They wanted the silver. The chalice was old, priceless. I broke the tabernacle open and stole it, along with the rest of the valuables. Padre Philippe saw, he chased me down and caught me. Well, I didn't hand them over. I beat him with one of the candlesticks, nearly to death, and when I saw what I'd done; the blood all over the church silver, I fled. A few days later, I just couldn't take it anymore, I went to the infirmary and saw him. It was awful...I couldn't look at what I'd done to him. But he spoke to me quietly, he said he forgave me, and I must find the good inside myself. He said my soul was mine for the saving. And that was it. I checked on him every few days, we talked for hours as he strengthened. And when he was well again, I joined the church. Not so earth-shattering, eh-my little miracle?" he smiled.

"Huh. Wow." Dean murmured. But he quickly abandoned the philosophical thread, in favour of the more burning question. "But Eli...man, no chicks? Ever?"

Elieis laughed ruefully. "Yes...that's the harder cross to bear."

Dean snorted. He would have had a lot more to offer on that subject, but a surly Javier knocked on the window and interrupted. "Let me know when your little car-date is over. I have breakfast ready."

* * *

><p>The four ate in tired silence. Sam, more than anyone, was in need of much more rest, after his rough night, but that was a luxury they would all have to forgo for a while. Once they were reasonably fed and caffeined, the discussion turned to strategy.<p>

"So...as far as we know, the last person to have possession of the remains was this Salazar character." Dean began.

Elieis confirmed it. "Yes. I gave the box to him to bury. I told him to do it, and then to take the afternoon off. It was that evening that everything went so terribly wrong."

"Ok, then I think we can base the rest of what we do on the idea that those bones never made it into the ground. So we need his address. Eli, you said you had that?"

"Yes, we will have to go out there. I believe he lives there with his wife, on a small plot of land. She sells things from their garden at the Saturday market."

"What about the church? Don't we need to guard it while we track this stuff down?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. Can't have any well-meaning people checking out the damage right now, while that spirit is freaking out. At least one of us will have to stay there."

"I will. I'll stay with my church." Eli offered.

Dean and Javier exchanged looks. "Uh, Eli...I think we're going to need you to be the liason with your caretaker. I don't speak any Spanish and neither does Sam." Dean said.

Javier added to it. "I will guard the damned church. I can't trust Elieis to stay out of it while we're gone; the stupid bugger will probably try to appease his saint again!"

Eli took offense. "Javier, you don't have the right anymore to play my protector! And anyway, I learned my lesson last night; I will leave this to the experts. But if we are to go find Lino, you will need an interpreter, so I will go with the brothers."

Javier was still unhappy about the whole situation. It drove him to distraction, the thought that there was actually some validity to all this nonsense, good or bad. "So you find him, and maybe the damned box. Then what?"

"Then we salt and burn it. If the remains are complete, he'll be released then. You'll know right off, Javier, if we were successful. The church will go quiet. If there's more to this, the crap will keep happening and we'll have to figure out what to do next. Who has a cell phone?"

Neither Javier nor Eli did. Sam lent his to Javier, as staying in contact was of the utmost importance.

"Stay in touch. If anything happens, we inform the others, agreed?"

It was agreed.

* * *

><p>The Winchesters and Elieis left in the Impala, while Javier took Eli's truck. Dean was behind the wheel. With Sam's cumbersome cast there was no question, regardless of how he was feeling. Eli could have driven, albeit awkwardly, but Dean would never allow a stranger to be in control of his car. He shifted and swore under his breath, trying to ease his aching side. Eli stared at the floor. It was a long and tedious drive back, and no one felt much like talking. It seemed a stifling eternity, but finally the church, newly shorn of its tower, loomed ahead. Already the heat was radiating off the land, it lent a mirage-like quality to the were already damp with sweat when they got out.<p>

Javier pulled up behind them and exited. He stood with the trio, as they scanned the building, nervously. "Seems quiet enough...nobody around, so far. Your Saint is worn out, I think."

Dean stretched and grimaced. "Good. At least there's no wailing to attract attention. Better keep clear of it, though, Javier. Anything could set him off again."

Javier nodded. "Don't worry, I'm not going in there. I don't darken the door of a church on a good day. So you just want me to stand guard here?"

"Yeah. Just keep and rubber-neckers at a safe distance 'til we get back."

Javier raised his brow quizzically. "Rubber-neckers?"

"Sorry; sight-seers, nosy buggers."

Javier nodded. "What if they won't listen to me?"

Dean popped the trunk, retrieving and loading a pistol. He handed it to Javier. "_Convince_ them."

Sam called from the car; he was roasting in the heat and eager to get the task finished. Dean barked a curt response and headed back. "Good luck, Javier; stay in touch."

They drove around to Eli's little house, and he went in, returning with the address of the caretaker, and a map. Dean took the latter. "Eli, how far is this place?"

"Can't be too far. Lino rides a bicycle from his house. Maybe a few miles. It's a small farm, as I understand. There are a few buildings there, just a house, and pigsties, that sort of thing. We can only hope he has a name at the road."

"Mmm. Ok, let's go, it's only gonna get hotter."

* * *

><p>As they drove along the dusty road, Eli answered questions as well as he could. "I was only the priest here for a couple of weeks. I said my first sermon only days ago." He winced, remembering. "My now infamous speech. It was where I introduced myself officially, and then pulled the carpet out from under them all. I told them that the church must move away from such things as the worship of bones and statues...and now that I was here, that things were going to change."<p>

"How'd that go over?" Dean snorted.

"Predictably. I shocked them all. Things are done slowly out here, change is an unwelcome stranger. I should have been gentler in my methods."

"Why did you want them to quit with the saints and statues? What was wrong with it?"

Eli pursed his lips. "Well, because...I think it is an obstacle to a true faith. These are _things_, Dean; plaster and wood and bone. The people were treating them like gods in their own right, worshipping them, begging favours of them, when they should have been speaking to God himself. It was my duty to change this, worried for the people."

"Well...it's not your congregation that's your worry right now, it's your patron saint. As soon as we get that box back from this idiot, we salt and fire it. Then all you have to worry about is getting tarred and feathered by your people."

Eli fidgeted for a moment. "Dean...what if the box has things missing?"

Dean frowned. "Eli, tell me you have some idea of what exactly was in there!"

"I...I never really looked, I was disgusted by it. I emptied the casket into a cardboard box, for burial. I did see some small bones, briefly. And I remember an old silver cross in a bit of twine. Perhaps a bit of cloth.. There was nothing of a size, it was all small bits and not many. Maybe three or four bones."

"Well, you'd better pray that all that crap is intact, otherwise we're screwed. We won't be able to settle him down."

Sam had been watching for their destination. "Dean, up on the left; a couple of houses."

They approached the decrepit little enclave. A few scrawny chickens scattered ahead of the car, road-savvy veterans. Dean pulled into the dirt lane. There was a rusted remnant of a mailbox, and the faded letters on it looked promising. Eli shielded his eyes, scanning the small, dirty house. "I see his bicycle, this is the place."

* * *

><p>The trio emerged from the car. As they walked toward the building, a thin, scabby dog flew at them. It frothed and snarled, clearly not friendly. Thankfully, it was thwarted in it's headlong rush by the length of chain that tethered it to a lean-to. It yelped and dropped to the dust, and continued to pace frenetically in the half circle of space that the chain afforded it. The poor dog had obviously spent its entire life on that spot; its track in the cement-hard ground was worn to a deep trough, and the space between it and the shed was devoid of any plantlife, swept constantly by the movement of the chain. It was strewn with feces and the odd unidentifiable scrap.<p>

"Nice." Dean growled. Their attention was diverted from the animal by a shrill order from within the house. The dog slunk back, and lay down, and sullenly began to gnaw on one of the scraps. Eli knocked at the door. A disheveled and impossibly wrinkled woman came out, scowling. She spoke in rapid Spanish, as Eli explained their purpose. She spat on the ground, and put her tobacco-yellowed hands on her hips.

"Lino is not here. That lazy trash went into town last night to try to sell some things. He never came home, probably drunk and whoring somewhere." She turned to leave.

"Wait, Senora Salazar...Do you know if Lino came home with anything yesterday afternoon? A box?"

She eyed them with sour suspicion. "Why? Did he steal something? If he's in trouble, I don't know anything about it!"

Eli assured her, "No, no trouble Senora, it was..something I asked him to take...a mistake I made. There's no trouble here; I just need it back. Please, it is of no value."

She stared at him for a moment. She decided he must be speaking the truth, after all, he was a priest. "He had a package or something under his arm when he came home. I saw him come up the lane with it. He put away his bicycle and came in, but he didn't have it in his hands anymore. I don't know where he put it."

Elieis pressed her, "Senora, may we look, by that place? It is important."

The brothers stood by, pasting on their most innocuous smiles.

She shrugged. "I don't care. Find your box of trash. And when you see that bastard, you tell him to get his skinny ass back here." She turned away and entered the house, the broken screen door slamming behind her. The trio turned and stared at the bicycle. It stood at the edge of the dog's reach, propped against a fencepost. They walked toward it, and the dog abandoned its chew toy and charged them again. They searched around the bike, at least as closely as they dared. Sam tried to soothe the enraged dog, talking gently to it. "C'mon, boy...that's a good dog, go get your chew-bone." The dog was unaccustomed to a kind tone and it continued to growl nervously. But after a moment, it dropped its protest, and to the surprise of everyone, it turned and huddled over its prize, and began to grind at it again.

"Way to go, Dr. Dolittle!" Dean whispered. Sam grinned, and continued to talk to the beast. Eli looked at the animal, glad that it had quieted. His relief was short-lived. Behind the dog, a few feet away, lay the flattened and torn remains of a shoebox.


	9. Chapter 9

9

Padre Elieis roared a string of epithets that impressed even Dean.

"What? What's the matter?" Dean demanded. Sputtering with rage, Eli pointed at the box.

"Aw, don't tell me...that's your box?" Dean moaned. They all stared at the dog now. The realization amongst them was simultaneous; the box...the dog...it's jealous guarding of its bone treats...

Elieis was so angry that he had tears in his eyes. "That stupid, lazy, cursed old bastard! He fed my Saint to the f~cking dog! He turned away, and kicked furiously at the nearest fencepost until splinters flew and he hurt enough to ease his anger. Dean found it hard, under the circumstance, to contain his humour. He coughed to hide it.

Sam was not pleased. "Don't be a jerk!" he hissed at Dean. "This is really horrible for him! Have some freaking sensitivity for once!"

Dean grew sombre again...this did pose a nasty little problem. "So I guess one of us has to go in there and gather up the bits. I suppose we oughta flip for it."

"Flip for it...seriously? You're the only one without a cast, Dean. You're pretty much it."

"Yeah, right!" he retorted. "You're the freaking Dog Whisperer! And if he bites your cast, no problem!" But he knew he was going to do it anyway. He would never allow harm to come to Sam if he could step in and take it. He sighed, swore under his breath and started to step over the sagging wire. The dog rose from its temporarily lulled state and rushed at the fence, snarling and snapping.

Sam pulled Dean back. "Wait; we have a couple of sleeping bags in the trunk, we can throw them over him, and maybe contain him."

Dean thought that was a particularly good idea. He walked back to the car and returned with one, as Sam tried again to soothe the animal. His powers didn't work this time, the dog would not be quieted. Dean wasted no time, and tossed the sleeping bag over him, hopping the fence and flattening the frantic beast, pinning it. Eli climbed over and swiftly collected anything that could possibly be a saintly relic.

"Hurry up, he's squirming loose!" Dean yelled, as the dog struggled wildly under the covering.

Elieis hopped back over. " I think that's everything-"

Dean counted silently to three, and released him, leaping back over just ahead of the snapping teeth. "Jesus, if that ain't a hell-hound!" he panted.

Sam was, as always, thinking the problem through thoroughly. "Uh, I hate to ruin the moment, but...that dog's had those bones for hours, and from the looks of what's left, he's been gnawing on them pretty hard. We're gonna have to take those...um... turds, too; the fresh ones anyway."

Dean looked at him incredulously. "Aw, you gotta be kidding me!" The last thing he wanted to do was gather up a load of fresh dog crap and burn it. This job definitely sucked lately.

Eli had more bad news. "That won't be enough either. We're going to have to take the dog, and either open him up, or wait until...well, the rest comes through."

Dean stared at him for a moment. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes. He was a hard individual; there wasn't much that he would turn away from, but gutting a dog was something he just couldn't contemplate. He looked at the creature, the ugly, hateful thing trying desperately to tear their innards, and he sighed. "So I guess we take the mutt. Anybody got any tranquilizers handy? Cuz that thing won't be happy just sitting in the back seat, at least not conscious, and it'll suffocate in the trunk with this heat."

Sam knew what they had stock-piled in the first-aid kit. "There's sedatives in the kit. We just need to get him to swallow a couple."

"Oh yeah, that oughta be easy."

Eli was a step ahead of them. "We can't just steal the animal. I'll go offer Senora Salazar some money for him. Maybe she could give us a bit of meat to give him."

The brothers nodded. Eli steeled himself and trudged back to the hovel.

* * *

><p>"You want the dog? Why?" she asked, her distrust and disdain twisting her features. Eli sighed and explained. Suddenly the realization dawned on her, and she cackled with malicious glee. "Oh of course! It's your Saint! It's the relics from the church, isn't it? The thing they're all cursing you over; your big plan!" She was beside herself with amusement over his predicament. "Oh, you've done it now, trusting stupid Lino with such things! What will all your good church-goers think of you now!"<p>

He was stung by her laughter. And it was true; he would never be able to face them now, and he could hardly rely on Good Senora Salazar to keep her mouth shut. A frustrated rage boiled up in him, but he beat it down and managed to stay his course. "Yes, it is as you suspect. And now I need your help to set this right, for the sake of San Mateo, and his parish. Please, Senora...the dog."

She spat into the dust. "It's Lino's filthy beast. I can't give him to you. Why, Lino loves that dog, sleeps with it every night in his bed."

Eli knew she was lying; it was obvious that the poor creature had never in all its miserable life been off that chain. "I understand. But perhaps, a good price for the animal will ease Lino's tears at his loss. What do you think would be the right amount to ease his pain?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Five hundred pesos."

"Senora...that is a great deal of money. I have no such funds in my pocket. Please-"

"Well what _do_ you have?" She knew full well that she was in the driver's seat.

He pulled his meagre wallet out, and rifled through it, counting. "I have only forty-three pesos. Good lady, I am only a poor priest."

She eyed his crucifix, which hung on a cord around his neck. "Is that silver?"

He frowned and nodded.

"Give me the money and that cross. And-" She leered out the door at the young men standing several yards away, "I want a kiss from that one; the tall one-"

"What?" Elieis spluttered.

"Hah! Look at the blushing celibate! You heard me, he's pretty, and I want it. Give me these things and you may have the dog."

Eli nodded miserably and returned to the brothers. Dean asked if he was successful. "Yes...she has her price. My wallet is emptied and I must give her my crucifix. And..."

"And?" Dean demanded.

Eli sighed. "And she's demanding...a..kiss."

Dean burst out laughing. "Did you give it to her? Was it everything you and her dreamed of?"

"Not from me! She wants a kiss from...from Sam."

Sam shot him a look of horror. "What? No way! Forget it!" he shuddered. He looked to Dean for support, but his brother's grin showed that he wasn't going to get it. "Come on! Seriously?"

Eli shrugged helplessly. After a moment of disgusted refusal, Sam gave in. He knew the importance of what they were doing, he knew what was at stake. He glared at Dean, who was still smiling annoyingly. He hobbled up to his admirer, she opened her mouth in a snaggle-toothed grin and licked her lips. He greeted her awkwardly.

"Hello, Ma'am."

She grabbed his shirt-front, hauled him close, and planted her wrinkled, foul-tasting mouth hard on his. He kept his lips pressed tightly together, thwarting her tongue as it pushed to slip into his mouth. After what felt like a tortured eternity, she released him, bending double in cackling spasms of laughter. "Go. Take the dog, you stupid boys." She turned, still chuckling, and headed back in. Sam turned and met his audience. Even Elieis was having trouble covering his smirk. Dean whistled a cat-call and Sam flipped him the bird.

"Well, I'm done my whoring for the day. Congratulations, you're now the proud owner of a beautiful purebred rabid dingo. You're on your own, have fun collecting your big bag of crap, Dean." He hobbled past them and headed to the car.

Elieis and Dean exchanged guilty and sheepish looks. "Dog, or turds, Eli?"

"I think you are better at handling the animal."

Dean nodded and tried to reach through the fence to retrieve the sleeping bag, but was thwarted by the lunging mutt. The dog's snap barely missed his fingers and he stumbled backwards, cursing. He landed on his backside, and he stayed there, pressing his hand to his throbbing ribs. Sam saw it and relented. He rummaged under the seat, and found a melted leftover bite of a chocolate bar, and he pressed two capsules into the sticky blob. He wrapped it in it's packaging and returned to the two that stood, in a helpless quandary, in front of the their newly acquired pet. He tossed it to Dean. "Throw him that. It's laced with sedative."

Dean caught it and rolled the sweet lump out of its wrapper, shaking it into the dust within the dog's reach. It sniffed it, and immediately snapped it up. It chewed it briefly as the men watched anxiously, half expecting it to spit out the pills. But it didn't. Within minutes, it began to weave on its feet. It whined in confusion and lay down, drooling. Within short order, it had its head down on its paws, and had closed its eyes.

"Is it asleep?" Sam asked uncertainly.

"Maybe it's dead." Eli murmured.

Dean said nothing, he stepped over the wire and gave it a nudge with his foot. The dog turned its head and sighed, curling up in comfortable slumber. "Nope, we're good. Come on, Eli; collect what you have to. I'll carry him to the car." He slid the dog onto the sleeping bag and gathered the bundle up, hauling it over the fence and carrying it to the Impala. Elieis diligently collected his turds.

Dean took the precaution of tying a makeshift muzzle on the dog. It was snoring...it actually appeared to be smiling. The poor thing stunk to high heaven, Dean winced at the thought of it's flea infested hide against his seat. It had a tan colouring, a slightly curled coat. It was painfully thin, but with a bath, a few decent meals, and some taming, it might clean up to be a decent mutt.

* * *

><p>Sam sat in the back with it as they drove back to the church. He stroked its dirty ears and spoke softly to it the whole way. He was often frustrated that they failed to save everyone in this job, but he was satisfied that at least, today, they saved a dog.<p>

They approached the church, and stopped where they's left Javier hours earlier. He was nowhere to be seen. Elieis got out and called his brother's name, but there was no response. Dean's stomach tightened, as worry for his friend gripped him. They could see flashing light, and noises coming from the building. The Saint was awake again. And he was not happy...


	10. Chapter 10

10

"Aw, what the hell now?" Dean growled. His side still throbbed mercilessly after his fall, his mood was black. Elieis bore a look of panic, and he strode toward the church, calling for his brother over the rising wail. Dean grabbed him by the wrist. "Don't even think of going in there again! Last thing I need is to have to rescue your ass from under another load of rocks! Go around and check your rooms, I'll check out the church!"

His tone brooked no argument and Eli sprinted around to his small living quarters. Dean retrieved a salt gun from the trunk and the brothers approached the church doors warily. The stones that had blocked the doors were partially cleared away; someone had been in there.

"Stay here, Sam; you can't move fast enough."

"Neither can you! What are you planning?"

"I don't know yet. But somebody got in here, and Javier was supposed to be watching. There could be somebody trapped-" He was about to enter the church when a shout from Elieis caught their attention. They both made their way to where Eli was calling.

* * *

><p>They found him, kneeling in his doorway, a groggy Javier beside him.<p>

"What the hell happened?" Dean demanded, kneeling to attend them.

"I found him here, out cold." Eli said. He was holding Javier up as the older man struggled to regain his senses. Javier groaned and pushed Eli away.

"Stupid bastard! " Javier growled, rubbing his head. "Your caretaker, Salazar; he was here. He must have been looking for more things to sell; I guess he figured Elieis was done here, and the church things were free for the taking."

"Is he still here?" Dean demanded, instantly wary.

"Maybe, I don't know... I caught him going through the office. He hit me with something. I don't know where he went after-"

Dean swore. "Yeah, well I can guess. Your saint is screaming like a bitch in the church, I'd better go track him down. Eli, look after Javier. Sam- stay here!"

He left them, before they could argue. It was clear to Dean that Lino had entered the church, after finding nothing of any real value in Elieis' quarters. If San Mateo had any idea who it was that had disturbed him now, then Lino was a dead man. _Not that it was any great loss... _Dean forged ahead anyway. He scrambled over the tower stones and entered the church. He ducked immediately as a brass votive holder flew dangerously close to his head. "Lino! Hey, Salazar-!" he shouted over the growing din. No one answered. Dean flattened along a wall, figuring that it was the safer position. He crept along, keeping his back protected as he fended off countless flying church items with his hands. Lino still didn't answer. He made his way toward the altar, swearing angrily as he was struck in an ear by a musty hymnal. He could see the body of the nun now. Actually, in the oppressive heat, he'd smelled her before she was visible. But he saw no sign of the caretaker. He clutched his salt gun at the ready, in case San Mateo decided to make an appearance in a more tangible way. As another barrage of things hit him, he roared back in frustrated anger.

"Hey, Padre Mateo! Alemann! Stop this, we're here to help you!"

The whirlwind settled momentarily. Dean looked around warily, surprised that he'd actually been able to penetrate the spirit's emotional tantrum. But the lull was short-lived. The temperature plummeted, and Dean was gripped by a sudden fear. He was in the middle of the church now, at the altar. There was no real direction to run to safety. He breathed rapidly, as a panic started to rise. It was then that he saw a gruesome sight. A pair of bloodied legs lay in a twisted mass beneath the altar. He nudged a foot, finding no response. Shivering in the unnatural chill, he knelt and grasped it, pulling the body into view.

It was an older man, and he was decidedly dead. His mouth was stretched unnaturally wide, frozen in a silent scream, his glassy eyes dusted with grit. A thick brass curtain rod protruded from his throat. There was no mystery as to his identity; he had a sack clutched in his hand, and Dean pulled it free and dumped it. The humble silver chalice and a few other things tumbled out. Dean guessed that they'd have earned him no more than 50 pesos in trade, hardly worth dying for. He realized, too, that there was no one in the church now who needed rescue. And as such, there was even less reason to continue to risk his own well-being. He looked around, nervous about the quiet now.

Sam peeked in through a ruined window. "Dean, you ok?"

"Yeah. Caretaker's dead, though. The saint's gone quiet...I'm coming out." He quietly inched his way back toward the open doors.

* * *

><p>He almost made it.<p>

San Mateo remembered his affront. Dean was mere yards from the door when the whirlwind rose again. The stones, the dust, the books and candles and broken statues began to pelt him again. He roared and cursed as they hit him, bruising and cutting where they struck. He was forced to stop and crouch, covering his face and head from the onslaught.

"Dean!" Sam yelled in helpless warning.

"Sam, burn what we have! _Now!"_ Dean howled, as the debris struck him with more and more force. He was trapped, prevented from fleeing now, all he could do was try to protect his exposed body from San Mateo's barrage. Sam tore himself away from the window, hobbling as fast as his awkward cast would allow to the car. He pulled out the bags of relics, and dog-leavings, and threw them onto the dusty ground. His shaking hands found the kerosene can, and a tin of salt. He dumped both out over the pile, and tossed a match onto them. It went out before the fuel could light, and he shakily lit another. This one found its mark; the kerosene lit, and in seconds the grisly pile was burning. He stumbled back to the window.

"Dean, it's burning, it's burning! Are you ok? Dean!"

But Dean didn't answer. He was curled up against the wall, hands still clutched loosely over his head. San Mateo had seemed to pause, at least for the moment. Sam stared at the still figure of his brother, bloodied and covered in candles and torn paper and dust. He called to him again, but he didn't stir.

The younger Winchester cast a worried glance back to his little fire. It still burned steadily, releasing an oily, black smoke into the air. Perhaps they had collected enough after all; the Saint seemed to have stilled the moment the relics had caught fire. He made his way to the door and clumsily stumped his way to where Dean lay, crouching over him as well as he could. He brushed away the debris and shook him gently. Dean stirred with a groan of complaint. Sam could see a thick smear of blood coming from Dean's hairline, it stained the dusty tiles under his cheek. "Dean, it's Sam...can you hear me?"

Dean frowned and fluttered his eyes. "Yeah."

"Can you get up? Let me help you..." Sam got to his feet and tried to pull Dean up, but he was hampered by his cast, and they both fell back to the tiles heavily. Dean shrugged him away and got up, weaving on hands and knees, and when the scene in front of him stopped spinning, he allowed Sam to help him further. The two made their way as quickly as they could out of the now quiet church.

They were met by Elieis and Javier. Javier was reasonably recovered now from his own experience, and he dragged Dean the rest of the way to the Impala, laying him out on the dust of the parking lot, as Eli hovered. Sam checked him over, feeling his scalp tensely for injury. Dean yelped when his fingers found the place where he'd been struck. He twisted away.

"_Stop_ it, for shits sake!" he growled, swatting at the hands. He rubbed his eyes clear and sat up, leaning against the comforting bulk of his car. "Did you burn'em?"

"Yeah, everything we had. So far so good. It went quiet, at least long enough to get you out. Did you find Salazar?"

Dean nodded. "Dead. Maybe that, and the burning will be enough." He groaned and pulled himself to his feet with Javier's hand. He stumbled and Sam caught him up.

"Easy Dean...you got a good crack on your head. Just take it slowly."

He nodded and sat back down, fighting nausea now. Eli sat beside him.

"Do you think it's done, then...?" the priest ventured anxiously.

Dean shrugged. "Eli, all we can do is wait and see. If it stays quiet, we're good. If not, we'll have to wait on the dog to pass whatever's still in his system. When that happens, and we burn it, we should be done. -Unless there's more out there that we're missing."

Eli crossed himself. "Pray there isn't."

The foursome made their way to Eli's quarters to tend to their various hurts. As much as they would have rather returned to the resort, they knew that it was only a matter of time before concerned or curious people would be at the church. They had to be sure that it was finished. Elieis was particularly vexed by the thought of the bodies beginning to decompose in the heat on the flagstones in front of the altar. He prayed hard that his Saint was once again at peace, and that they could return in the morning to remove the victims and inform their loved ones.

* * *

><p>Several hours later, after a great deal of discussion and at least one bottle of tequila, the group was startled by a clumsy, heavy knock at the door. Dean glanced warily at Javier. "Eli..?" Javier asked. "Expecting anyone-?"<p>

Elieis shook his head, fearful now. They could smell something now, a vague stink-

Dean looked out the windows. "There's no cars, or bikes; nothing. Whoever this is came on foot."

The heavy knock sounded again, and was followed by pounding. The stench grew stronger, creeping under the door, and causing them to grimace. Dean picked up his salt gun, and nodded to Sam.

"Open it-"


	11. Chapter 11

11

Sam counted to three and pulled the door open.

The sight that greeted them was unimaginably hideous; Sister Crotilde stood, milky-eyed and propped by some unnatural means before them. Her expression was the same as she wore in death, there was nothing behind her dead eyes that recognized anything around her. Her hands, bludgeoned from beating the rough old door, fell slackly to her sides, and her mouth hung open, as gasses of decomposition escaped from it in a fetid, hissing sigh. It was not her own spirit animating her failing form now, it was something else.

The brothers recoiled. Elieis stood in wide eyed shock, and Javier grimaced and pulled his shirt over his mouth and nose. Sam swiftly moved to shut the door against the horror, but Dean stopped him-

"Wait! See what it wants-" he said.

Eli began to mumble prayers, frantically beseeching the heavens to stop this hellish animation of the poor old woman's remains. Heaven turned a deaf ear. The four men stood in nauseated silence as the tiny, crooked corpse trembled and swayed before them. They tried not to breathe the stench and waited to see what the purpose of this terrible thing was.

The Sister's right arm rose again as she stood. It stretched straight out, pointing at Elieis. Her head lolled to one side, and fluid dribbled out of the slack mouth. The young priest stumbled back and covered his mouth, on the verge of vomiting. Sam and Dean stood at the ready, guns aimed at the apparition. Eli swallowed his rising bile and stepped forward again. "Why...why are you here?" he asked, voice quavering.

The stinking corpse said nothing. Eli looked around at his battered companions, and he clamped down on his fear for their sake. He stepped closer to the figure. "San Mateo, are you doing this thing? Are you here to tell me something?" he demanded, his voice more sure.

Again there was only silence from it. But the hand remained outstretched, the pointing finger unwavering. Eli inched closer, so that the hand was now almost touching his forehead.

"Don't!" Javier hissed in horror. "Elieis, it's the devil! Keep back!"

"No!" he murmured, shaking off Javier's restraining hand. "He's trying to speak to me.." He stepped now within its reach. The other hand of the poor nun rose now, and clutched at her thin, dishevelled hair. The dead fingers twisted in it, pulling until a clump of the fine white strands tore free. The hand holding it reached out and shook the result at Eli. Eli glanced with bewildered horror at Dean. Dean shook his head; he did not understand the gesture any more than Elieis did. But his finger tightened on the shotgun trigger, ready to fire.

The dead nun dropped the hair and shuffled jerkily toward the young priest. Javier was poised to spring to his defense, an iron frying pan clutched tight and held ready, but Eli held him back. He had to see what the saint was trying to say, no matter what happened. The Sister's left hand moved now and pointed to Dean. The body shuffled forward until the fingers brushed the amulet around his neck. He jerked away.

"No freaking way!" he growled, clutching the pendant and tucking it under his shirt. But the hand dropped away. It rose again to point to Elieis' chest now, at the place where his crucifix had lain. The cord hung empty, since he'd had to trade it for the dog. The gnarled old finger, like a knotted root, touched him. He shuddered but held his place. It pressed against him, the nail scratching a shape into his skin as he watched, transfixed. When it was done, an unseen force squeezed her torso, and the escaping air was released in a reedy shriek. It was the last sound she would ever make. Crotilde's body crumpled to the floor. Whatever power had animated it was gone, and her corpse slumped to a heap on the threshold. Nothing moved it again, and the men stood transfixed, watching it for several minutes, until it was clear that the strange event was over. Eli looked down at the image her nail had impressed into him. It was a cross...a simple cross. He covered his face and fled to the bathroom, where he wretched uncontrollably for some time.

Javier tore his gaze away from the body, looking to Dean for explanations. "What the hell was that? Was it really the saint moving her? Jesus Christus, this is sick...it's evil!"

Dean nudged the still form with his toe, thinking for several moments.. "No, I don't think this was evil at all... Gross, yeah, but not evil. I think Elieis is right; the old bastard was trying to say something through her. We just have to figure out what the hell he's talking about." He put the safety back on the gun and laid it down, sitting heavily at the table. "Guess we'd better deal with her, before she gets any worse. We should wrap her body at least, and put it outside in a shed or something, until family can come and collect it. It's already stinking up this joint!" he grimaced.

Elieis had returned. He apologized for being overwhelmed by what had happened. "The Sister has no family, no one will be coming to collect her. We must bury her ourselves. But we will have to inform the police, and about Lino as well. His wife will have to know." He sat at the table and poured a shot with a shaking hand. The others joined him.

"Well..." Sam sighed, "I guess we can safely assume that there's still some part of him that didn't get burned. We'll have to wait for the dog to pass whatever's left in his system."

Dean remembered the filthy beast asleep in his car. "Aw, crap-he oughta be awake by now! He'd better not have left any _remains_ on my seat!" He got up and gingerly stepped over the old nun. "I'm gonna go check on him. Eli; get a sheet or something, we'll need to get that body out of your doorway. It's already bringing flies."

"I'll take care of it." Javier said grimly.

* * *

><p>Sam followed Dean out to the car. They could hear the dog's unhappy and confused whining as they approached, and when it saw them, it launched itself at the half open window, leaving a smear of foamy saliva on the glass. Sam spoke soothingly to it, and it stopped it's aggressive lunging and cowered at the far side of the car, watching them in disoriented misery.<p>

"Dean, go get something for him to eat. And some water. I'll keep talking to him."

Dean nodded and left him there, returning shortly with some cooked pork and a bowl. Sam carefully opened the door and waited, the dog stayed where it was, growling.

"How's he gonna eat? He's muzzled." Dean asked.

"I guess we'll just have to take it off."

"Oh yeah, there's a good plan! After _you_-" Dean snorted, stepping back.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Chicken! He's just a scrawny dog, it's not like it's a werewolf or something." He sat beside the animal, taking the offerings from Dean's hands. He let the dog smell the treat, then placed a morsel on the seat. Despite its fear, the dog shook with excitement; he'd never before been offered such a wealth. Sam murmured to it, reaching toward the makeshift muzzle, and loosening it. The dog shook it off immediately and growled, baring its teeth impressively. But it went back to the meat, sniffing, then snapping it up, all the while keeping a wary eye on Sam. Sam held another piece up. He could see the dog wasn't really aggressive, just terrified, and its hunger won over its fear. He held the second offering out to it. The dog reached forward and snarled, but it took it from Sam's fingers with surprising grace. Sam saw the thin tail wag slightly. He continued to sweet talk the dog, and after several more pieces it stopped its growling. He gave it water next, which it lapped at with frantic urgency, draining the bowl. "Good boy.." Sam repeated softly. He carefully reached to scratch its head, and the dog flattened, curling its lips again. Sam took a chance and touched it anyway. He felt the rigid posture melt as he began to scratch his head and ears. The dog leaned toward the attention shyly, and wagged a little more. He'd won it over.

Dean was impressed. He'd never have taken the chance with the animal, sure that it would take a chunk out of his throat. "Nice going, Sammy!" he whispered. "Now get him outa my car before he craps in it!"

Sam gave a last tasty scrap to him, and gathered the dog up carefully. It was still groggy, and its legs were still tied. But at looked at him with utter trust, accepting quietly as he was handed into Dean's waiting arms. "God, I can feel every bump of his spine!" he muttered as he carried him. The dog struggled weakly for a moment, but kept his eyes on Sam, who reassured it with soft words as he crutched along. Dean held him tightly, asking, "So what do you make of all that, Sam?"

"I don't know...but I got the impression that San Mateo wants to move on as much as we want him to. He was obviously trying to tell us something. I guess that since everything is changed for him, he doesn't want to be stuck outside heaven's gate anymore. We've got to figure out what's missing so we can free him."

Dean grunted his agreement. "When Cujo here craps out the rest, we'll burn it, but I get feeling there's more to this, otherwise we wouldn't be talking to Sister Stinky. And naturally, we can't talk to the one sonofabitch who could tell us, with Salazar dead in the church. His wife might know something. Sorry, Sammy; you're gonna have to take one for the team here, and bed the lovely Senora S. in exchange for some info."

Sam stopped still. "What? No! No way! Forget it!"

Sam's expression of horror broke Dean up, and he winced as he laughed. "Relax, stupid, I'm just yanking your chain. But I don't know how you can be so damned picky; you wouldn't have got laid at all this vacation if it weren't for my charity chicks."

"You're a jerk."

* * *

><p>Javier and Elieis had pulled Sister Crotilde's body out of the doorway and wrapped her securely with a white cotton sheet and twine. Eli was in the midst of finishing a postumous last rites as they approached. He looked up with surprise upon seeing the dog lying meekly in Dean's arms.<p>

"That is surely not the same beast!" he marvelled.

Sam smiled. "It is. All he needed was some decent food and water and some kindness. If nothing else good comes out of all this, at least this guy will find a better life. Can I put him in the house?"

Eli nodded. "Yes, of course. Maybe in my office...I'll put some paper down in a minute." He finished the sacrament and he and Javier dragged the bundle out to the cemetery shed. They locked it for good measure; no one wanted any further social calls from the Sister tonight.

As the Herrera brothers walked back to the priest's quarters, Eli muttered, "Well I hope at least the Sister has found her peace. It sounds like San Mateo is in a rage again."

Javier looked fearfully toward the church, as they heard the sound of glass shattering and objects thudding hollowly against the plaster walls. "He is frustrated that we did not understand." he said. Eli nodded. They gave the church wide berth and returned to the safety of the kitchen.

There was nothing left to do now but wait. They tried to ignore the sounds coming from the building next door, keeping a watchful eye on the road in case there were visitors. A plan was made for the morning; they would wait for the dog to complete his digestive processes, and should the Saint be quieted at the final burning, they would quickly tidy the interior and contact the authorities, claiming there had been a structural collapse at the church, which had resulted in the unfortunate demise of two people. But if the burning failed to calm San Mateo, they would have to wait with reporting the tragedy; they could hardly bring more people in while mayhem reigned in the church. And more importantly, they were going to have to discover and retrieve whatever else had been in that box of relics.

But the dog made out like a bandit. In order to move the process along, he was fed nearly every tasty thing in the house, along with bowl after bowl of fresh water. Dean untied him fully, and by the end of the night his demeanor was transformed, and he'd won the hearts of all of them. He was a different beast once his trust was won. His whole hind end wagged as they took turns petting, feeding and playing with him. He was still quite young, and the misery of his former life was fast disappearing from his mind, and when they were ready to turn in for the night, Elieis folded a blanket and put it on the office floor for him. Javier took Eli's room and the brothers found soft surfaces in the livingroom. Eli slept on a cot in the office. By morning both he and the dog were sharing it.

* * *

><p>Morning came fast and early. Elieis served the coffee while Javier busied himself with cooking a breakfast for them all.<p>

Dean sat, hunched and stiff, glowering at the world. The couch he'd lain on had all the comfort to be expected from a parishioner's 'donated' cast-off . Sam knew well enough to keep his mouth shut until his brother had consumed at least his first cup. "Well there's a typical Winchester vacation!" the elder hunter grumbled. "We get the crap kicked out of us, the last woman we talk to has been dead for two days, and we're sitting around waiting for a dog to crap out a steaming pile of saint!"

Sam frowned and looked away, miserable that his R&R plan for Dean had gone predictably awry.

Dean saw the effect his sour words had. He stretched and sighed. "Aw don't mind me, Sam. I'm just morning-crabby. It's way too freaking early for me. And trust me, the first half out here rocked! Man, that red-head-" He trailed off grinning, and wearing a faraway expression. Sam smiled back. Both their moods brightened when Javier delivered heaping plates of his efforts, and they all sat silently consuming the bacon, eggs and bread.

"Any luck in there, Eli?" Sam asked.

"Not yet. Poor dog isn't used to being stuffed so full...he's probably all stopped up." That was enough said on that subject while they were eating.

Dean scratched the dog's head, it was resting heavily on his thigh. "Go away, beggar. Make some room and you can have more." The dog huffed in disappointment and sat on his bony hip. Dean couldn't help but smile. "So, Eli...you gonna keep him?"

Elieis grinned for the first time in days. "Yes, I think so. I paid for him, after all. And he's not big, and seems to have a mild temper. If you'd asked me that a day ago, I would have said you were crazy." He smoothed the dog's dry, thin coat absent mindedly. "Dean...what do you make of the visit from poor Crotilde? What was he trying to say to me through her?"

Dean sat back. "Well...her hand pointed to both of our chests; it actually touched the thing around my neck. And with the cross scratched where yours was supposed to hang, I think it's fairly clear. He wants his crucifix back. I don't know, maybe it was really important to him when he was alive, or something...maybe sentimental."

Sam agreed. "Yeah, that part was pretty obvious. But it's just a thing, right? From what we know, it shouldn't interfere with anything...I mean, when we salt and burn the last of the relics, as soon as the dog gives them up; he should still be gone, right? The cross isn't actually last remains."

"Mmm..." Dean grunted. "Only one way to know. But yeah, technically it isn't. And I doubt it could be acting as a cursed object in this case. First of all, it's a cross; can that even be cursed? And second; we've definitely got a spirit presence here, and that's what has to be appeased. Cursed objects don't have that much personality."

The Herrera brothers sat quietly, absorbing the information with awe. Both were still trying to come to grips with these things that the Winchesters discussed so matter-of-factly. "But why would he bring this to our attention then?" Javier demanded, "If it is not necessary to release him, why would he try to speak to us about it?"

Dean shrugged. He had no answer. But at that moment, the warm odour of the dog's urgent need wafted through the room. "Oh, god! " Dean grimaced, covering his nose, "Eli, you're on; your dog _really_ needs to go out!"

The priest nodded. He found a length of rope for a make-shift leash, and headed out to the garden. In minutes he returned. "Success. Now, my friend, it is all _yours..._ It's beside the wheel barrow." He patted the dog and went to rummage in the kitchen for a treat. Dean got up creakily, and Sam joined him with equal speed. They all went outside.

* * *

><p>Eli stood, frowning uncertainly at the pile. "Do you think I should say something..?"<p>

Javier snorted. "Sure, Elieis...go look in your bible for the words for El Sacramento de la Santa Excrementos!"

Eli sighed and angrily told him to shut his mouth for a change. To his surprise, a chastened Javier apologized. Sam and Dean did not wait on ceremony; they sprinkled the mound liberally with salt, followed by copious kerosene, and lit it. After several more infusions of fuel, it finally burned completely. Dean looked around at his companions, all standing solemnly around a smoking pile of shit. He couldn't help but laugh. Even Eli saw the abstract humour in it all.

"So...now what?" he asked.

Dean looked to the church. "Now we go and see if this thing is over. Stay here, I'll be back in a minute." His tone brooked no argument, and he walked to the building alone as the others waited and hoped.

Dean stepped over the tumbled tower stones and gingerly stuck his head through the doorway. The only sounds were the whistling beat of a startled pigeon's wings as it flew to another perch, and the buzzing flies that made a halo over Lino Salazar. -_so far so good-_

But the moment he entered, the angry noise rose again. The candles and books became airborne, they shattered against the walls, and pelted Dean mercilessly as he stumbled back to the safety of the yard. He returned to where the others stood, nursing a bloody nose and cursing. He was frustrated and angry, but not surprised. Eli got him a wash cloth. "Still not finished..?" he asked unhappily.

Dean sat down wearily and Sam held the cold cloth against the bridge of his nose until the bleeding stopped. "Nope." he sighed. "Apparently we need to find this cross."

Javier swore fervently. "How the hell do we do _that_? That stupid bugger lies dead out there! We can't ask him where it is!" He was getting frantic; he had to return to the resort soon, but he would never abandon Eli to deal with this thing alone.

"San Raphael is the nearest town." Elieis ventured, "It's big enough that he would probably go there to sell his things. Perhaps there are pawn shops there, junk shops...we could look in them, ask around. And Senora Salazar...we have to speak to her about Lino anyway...she may know of it."

-_ugh-_The last thing Dean wanted to do was go back and haggle with that disgusting old crone. He shrugged off Sam's attentions and pressed his hand to his aching side, closing his eyes for a moment. "Eli, I know you said you hardly saw the box contents, but can you remember anything about that damned cross? Any detail at all? We need something here; there will be hundreds of silver crosses out there and I don't know about you, but I sure as hell don't have the cash to buy'em all."

Eli sat down. "All I remember was that it was simple, about two inches long, and silver. It wasn't ornate, it was old and worn."

"What was the chain like? Would you recognize it?"

"No...no chain. It was on a piece of twine, braided string or something."

The braided caught Sam's attention. "Twine...? What colour was it? The texture, was it fine or coarse?"

Eli shook his head, agitated. "I don't know, I don't know...it just went past my eyes when I dumped the casket."

"Well _think!" _Dean barked.

Eli dropped his head in his hands, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to bring the image to mind. "Brown. The string was brown...faded brown. I remember it was twisted, or braided, a short piece, and it was fine, like-"

"Like _hair_?" Sam asked.

"Yes, like old hair, or fine threads."

The brothers exchanged looks. "Memento Mori!" they said in unison.

"What the hell is that, now?" Javier demanded.

Dean filled them in. "It's a death memento. They used to do that a long time ago; take hair from a dead person, braid a cord out of it, or bracelet, or a woven panel in a locket. It's not about the cross at all, it's the thing it was hanging from. The last remaining part of San Mateo's body...his hair!"


	12. Chapter 12

12

"Good job, Elieis!" Sam said, "At least now we know exactly what we're looking for."

Elieis was relieved that he was able to remember the detail. "You think this is it, then? This cord of hair? There is nothing more..?"

Dean put the washcloth aside, his nosebleed had stopped. "Well, judging from what we know here. You saw the contents, Eli...unless there was some other gross little memento, the hair is what we're after."

"No. I am sure there was nothing else...nothing from his body, anyway. So we must go into San Raphael, then. All we have to do is find where he sold it and retrieve it. But how shall we do this?"

Dean's priority was to keep the public away from the church while the saint still ran amuck. That meant that they had to split up again, and they would need a speaker of Spanish with them. "Javier...how about it, you mind playing the guard role again? Eli can go into town with us, and when we have the cross, we'll get back here and burn it, and this should be done. But we need to keep any curious gawkers away, and I think you have more of an air of authority right now than your brother does. They're liable to tar and feather Eli if they see the state of everything right now."

Javier nodded grimly. "Yes, I'll stay behind. But hurry up; those parishoners, they _are_ going to come. I'm surprised no one has been around yet. I still don't know what the bloody hell to tell them when they see this mess. And god forbid they want to enter the church while he is angered!"

Dean rose, grabbing the keys to the Impala. "Just convince them to keep their distance, Javier. However you need to. In the meantime, we'll track this thing down. And everybody stays in touch, agreed?"

Javier nodded. "Yes. Good luck."

* * *

><p>The trio separated once again. Dean had asked Sam if he wanted to remain behind, it was obvious that he was still suffering the ache of his fracture, and the cast was cumbersome, to say the least. But he had refused, feeling he could be of more use searching with the others than hampering Javier.<p>

Javier was relieved that he'd chosen to go with the others. He had decided on a course of action now, one that wanted no witnesses. He bade them a terse goodbye, and watched the car disappear in a cloud of swirling dust. He knew that Eli would have much to answer for if it became known that the tower had been destroyed as a result of his rash actions. And with two dead people, he was in even more danger from the police than he was from his parish. Senora Salazar already knew that San Mateo had been disturbed, and she was hardly the type to keep it to herself. People would be coming soon, to see what had happened, and Eli's future was in jeopardy. Javier didn't approve of Eli's chosen path, but he saw what it meant to his younger brother. And the only way to preserve any chance that he could go on as priest here, was to destroy what remained of that accursed church. The nun and the caretaker would be mourned as victims of the tragedy, and there would be no difficult questions to answer. There was only one way to hide the reality, only one way to ensure that they all stayed out of that building. He knew Elieis would never think to do what was now necessary, it was up to big brother Javier to step in and save his neck.

He had to do it, he had to burn it down.

* * *

><p>Dean drove with a reckless speed. He was eager to get this whole mess solved, and the sooner they could intercept the cross, the sooner he could get back to the warm and welcoming sand of the beach. He was in a dour and black mood, his side ached relentlessly and the time spent behind the wheel in the stifling heat of the car only exacerbated it. He wished they didn't have to go back to the odious Senora, but they needed any leads she could offer. Within a short period of time they found themselves parked again in front of the filthy Salazar hovel.<p>

Sam remained behind. "Dean, if you pimp me out again, I swear I'll take the car and leave you here with her!" he growled as they left.

They found her humming to herself, lying on a dirty couch. She was halfway through a bottle of something, and she squinted and grinned when they approached. "Such an honour!" she slurred, wobbling up to sit. "Another visit from the good priest. Did you bring my lovely friend?"

"No, Senora." Elieis lied. "Just us today. Dear lady; we come with a grave request. Please, can you tell us where Lino takes his things to sell? Is it in San Raphael?"

"Lino!" she spat. "He has not come home, probably laying with his whores, while I keep house for him. Well, he can rot in hell, the filthy pig!"

Dean hoped she wasn't too far along on that bottle. She stunk like she'd bathed in it. Eli tried again. "Senora, we must know this, please; where does Lino go to sell things? I promise, there will be no trouble for you and him."

She cackled at that. "Little Padre, you'll have to do better than that. What have you brought me this time?"

Eli looked to Dean in alarm. All he had was the shirt on his back, he had nothing to offer her. Dean wasn't about to hand over his own meager savings to the hag, not unless it was absolutely necessary. He saw that her tequila was closer to empty than full. "There's a full bottle of whiskey in the trunk, tell her we'll trade that."

Eli translated.

She thought for a moment. "Store-bought? No home-made poison..?"

Elieis nodded.

She smiled a wide and gummy smile. "Good. Go get it." She grabbed Dean's hand. "Not you, you stay here..."

When Elieis returned with the bottle, he found Dean on the porch, spitting and wiping his mouth furiously. Senora Salazar hooted with laughter in the house. Eli winced. "I owe you again, don't I?"

"Oh you better freaking believe it!"

The bottle met with her approval and she told them the name of the man Lino dealt with. As soon as they had what they needed, they retreated to the safety of the car and Dean left a roaring pall of dust in his wake. Sam looked at Dean's expression of sheer revulsion and hooted in triumph. Dean glowered; he was nowhere near being able to laugh about it yet. They called Javier, gave him the update, and headed out to San Raphael.

* * *

><p>Javier put the phone in the truck and set about his task. He unlocked and opened the shed. The stink gagged him, he stepped back and let it air out for a moment, then held his breath and dragged the shrouded body of Sister Crotilde out. He prayed she's stay horizontal this time, as he dragged her to the church and hauled her over the rubble and through the doorway.. He hopped back out before the saint could take aim at him, and went in search of fuel. The shed held a half-filled gas can, he took it out and found a few empty wine bottles, filling each part way. He needed something to use as wicks, and the only thing handy was the sheet wrapped around the nun. He loosened her bindings and ripped away a section of cloth, trying to keep from seeing what was revealed as he tore it into strips and stuffed one into each bottle. With a silent and superstitious prayer for forgiveness, he walked the perimeter, lighting each one and tossing them through the ruined windows. When he was satisfied that it was alight, he returned to where Crotilde lay. She needed some encouragement to burn, he emptied the rest of the gas over her form, and was about to light it when his feet were abruptly yanked out from under him and he landed hard on the stones. He yelled in shocked horror. The nun's skinny grey arm, freed now from its binding, shot out and wrapped like vice around his ankle. He swore and kicked at it in frantic terror, but it was like iron, and he screamed, clawing at the rubble, fighting the pull. It was hopeless, it dragged him through the doorway as the church began to burn.<p>

* * *

><p>The shabby but busy little metropolis of San Raphael sprawled out in front of them. Eli hopped out to ask directions, and in short order they were parked near the market centre. The trio got out, and they made their way to the shop to which they were directed. There was no sign to be seen, but through the yellow, fly-specked glass they could see various used goods displayed.. It seemed to fit what they were looking for. Dean wished he could handle it alone; this was clearly the rougher side of town, but with no Spanish, he needed Elieis. They ducked into the dark, smoke-filled place, and Dean sized up the enormously fat proprietor sweating behind a counter. He didn't like the look of him. He held Eli back by his arm for a moment.<p>

"Elieis, don't say anything unless you're translating for me, you got that?"

Eli nodded impatiently, and greeted the man in Spanish.

"Tell him we're looking for a gift-a silver cross for our mother-"

Eli spoke rapidly to the man. Dean could only trust that he'd said what he'd been told. The man grunted and turned around, pulling a wooden box out of the dusty shelves behind him. He shook it out onto the counter, and a dozen silver crosses slid across the tiles. Eli shuffled them around, seeing none that fit his memory, and certainly none on a plaited hair cord. He turned to Dean and shook his head miserably.

"Ask him if he has any _new_ stock to show us."

Elieis did so, and the man eyed him with sour suspicion. But he knew these were not police trying to trick him into selling stolen goods; at least one of them was American, and besides, everyone knew who was policia and who wasn't. He reached under the counter and retrieved a paper bag, which he emptied for their view. There were a number of things in the collection, but only one of any interest.

There it was, the blessed missing relic, lying amongst the baubles, its tether intact. Eli shouted in triumph, grabbing it and showing it to them. He spoke excitedly in Spanish.

Dean heard several words he'd warned Elieis not to reveal. -_f~ck, he's spilling the beans!- _He elbowed the young priest in the ribs, but it was too late, the man snatched the cross back.

"This cross...it is a very valuable thing..." he smiled. "Not just a cheap piece of tin, like the others. An antique, worth a lot of money."

Dean shot a blistering glare at Eli, who stammered that it was stolen, it belonged to the church, and they had the right to take it. The man's grin widened and he held the cross firmly in his sweating hand. "Oh well, then...I had no idea. Of course you can have it back."

Eli relaxed visibly.

"...for $1000." The man smiled, but his small pig-eyes gleamed with greed.

Elieis sputtered in shock, and he lost it. He flew across the counter and grabbed the jiggling throat with both hands, growling a stream of Spanish that sounded anything but ecclesiastical. The man stumbled back in a panic, yelling "POLICIA!" Ladron! Bandido!" over and over. The cross flew from his grasp and jingled metallically against the tiled floor.

Dean swore, grabbed Eli's shirt and and hauled him back as the man wheezed and flailed, and shouted louder. Dean glanced around in alarm, he could see through the window that people were pointing at the shop and a pair of uniformed men was running toward the entrance. He pushed Elieis roughly away from the counter, shouting, "Sam! Take him and get the hell out of here, back door! NOW!"

Sam gripped Elieis and dragged him out, exiting into a narrow alley. He abandoned his crutches and stumped his way painfully with the young priest in his firm grip until he found a place to duck behind. He was livid, he shook him angrily. "What the hell were you doing? " he hissed. "We were that close, Eli! Now we're stuck here, and Dean's in god knows _what _shit right now!"

Eli stammered, shocked by his own violent reaction and realizing now just what he'd done. He'd lost the cross, again, and worse; he'd also placed his friend in considerable jeopardy. He had sharp and unpleasant memories from his younger days...the brutality was on both sides of the law here. His mouth went dry as he felt a panic rise.

* * *

><p>Two uniformed officers stalked through the door. Dean held his hands out in a gesture of compliance. The fat lout behind the counter continued his yelling, pointing at Dean and gesturing wildly. He had no idea what he was telling them, but he knew it wasn't flattering. All he could do was shake his head vehemently and shout <em>No<em> to counteract it. The man kept up his volley of rapid fire speech as Dean struggled to deny it. The police were advancing on him, demanding responses from him to questions he couldn't understand. He backed away, holding his hands out, shouting that he didn't speak Spanish over their voices repeatedly, to no avail. The man kept up his shrieking barrage of accusations, the policemen were growing angry, and both had drawn their clubs. Dean had to make a quick decision, he knew there was no way to talk his way out of it and he bolted for the door.

He didn't have a hope in hell of reaching it in his state. They flattened him in the street as he cleared the threshold, and as he struggled and protested, they beat him until he was subdued. He lay panting in the dust, covering his head with his arms, and trying hard to keep from puking with the pain. He raised his head and offered one last attempt to explain. He was silenced by one of the policemen, who drew back and kicked him until he lay still.

* * *

><p>Sam was hampered by the damned cast. He sent Elieis out to peek around the building, in hope that Dean was still there. He returned looking stricken.<p>

"They had him on the ground, in hand-cuffs. I saw them drag him into the car. Sam, he wasn't moving..."


	13. Chapter 13

13

It was Sam's turn to panic now. His brother was now a foreigner in a Mexican jail, and he couldn't speak a word of Spanish. And from Eli's account, he had already suffered rough treatment. He sat down and covered his face for a few moments as Elieis stood by, miserable. "God...What are we supposed to do now? How am I supposed to fix _this?"_

Elieis spoke up. "Sam, I am so, so sorry-I don't know why I did this thing... It was just so close to being finished, and then that greedy bastard... I just...my old temper took over."

Sam ignored him, wracking his brain. He knew he was in over his head, he couldn't even communicate with people unless they knew some English. He also knew they had to lay low until everyone settled down. And there was no way they could check on Dean, they'd be picked up and thrown behind bars alongside him. Eli's description of him being hauled motionless into the car burned in his brain, and he prayed he was alright. "We gotta call Javier, maybe he has some advice here." But he remembered that Dean had his phone, but Javier was using his own. They'd have to find a payphone.

After some anxious moments of skulking around the maze of alleys, they saw the bell tower of an old but beautiful church. They made their way to its doors and entered. Elieis sought out the priest, identified himself and was granted the use of the telephone in the vestry. Sam dialed the cell, but after several attempts, it was clear that Javier was not answering. He swore, and then apologized to his host, who stood in the doorway, waiting. Elieis spoke to the man in a low and anxious tone, explaining what had happened at the shop, but wisely revealing nothing more this time about their furious saint. The elder padre frowned.

"He is in a great deal of trouble, this friend of yours. Believe me, I know this place. Punishment is swift and harsh for those who break the laws, unless they have the money to buy their innocence. And that crooked ass in that shop; always cheating the poor when they are at their most desperate! It is well-known that he pays the policia to look the other way. I would go for you, but I don't dare risk their scrutiny by asking about him... They will make things difficult for those of us who try to help the unfortunate here. I wish I could help you more."

Eli nodded miserably. "Just pray for him, Padre. I know I will be doing so."

* * *

><p>They left the church with directions to the police station. They were still hampered by their own endangered status, and Sam was about to tear his hair out in frustration. He didn't know where to turn. They now knew where the cross was, but it was effectively lost to them, and without it, San Mateo would continue to terrorize the church. As for Eli, he worried not only for Dean, but for his own brother as well. He wished Javier had answered, it would have eased his feeling of panic to talk to his older brother and he feared the reasons they couldn't reach him.<p>

But suddenly, it occurred to him. There was another man that he could turn to...a man who had shown wisdom and compassion to a violent young thief, one who had led him away from his sordid life and set him on this path. "Sam, I must go back and use the telephone again. I have a friend who may help us."

Sam nodded, and chose to stay behind and wait, as he was finding it increasingly difficult to bear weight on his injured leg, and he feared he was a target since there were few people around who matched his description and wore a plaster cast. He settled against the alley wall and waited. -_please, Dean, be ok-_

* * *

><p>When the policeman's boot found the place where he'd cracked the ribs, Dean's struggles abruptly ceased. A nauseating pain shot through his torso and he blacked out. He didn't regain awareness until he was unceremoniously dumped on the cell floor and the door clanged shut. It was then that he came-to fully, ears hissing, groggy and hurting. -<em>Crap- <em>He felt a deep and sickening ache, its throbbing matched his heartbeat. He rolled off his injured side and quickly realized that he was hand-cuffed, and he lay quietly for a long time, reeling with the bitter knowledge of his predicament. He was no novice, he knew he was in serious trouble.

* * *

><p>Elieis waited and prayed for a voice, holding his breath He sighed with relief when he heard his mentor answer.<p>

"Padre Philippe speaking."

"Padre Philippe... It's Elieis...Elieis Herrera..."

The priest's response was warm. "Eli! How are you, boy? I haven't heard from you in such a long time-how are you liking your new parish?"

"Padre Phillipe, please; I need help...I'm in San Raphael, there's some trouble..."

The old priest was silent for a moment. He'd seen young Elieis Herrera through hell and back, and he bore him great affection. "What is it Eli?"

Eli broke down and tearfully told his story to his kind mentor. He held nothing back now, he desperately needed Philippe's support and he wanted his friend to understand everything. When his speech was finished, he quietly sobbed on the phone, waiting for Philippe to say something, and terrified that he would hang up on him. But Padre Philippe was an old man who had seen many things in his life. He decided that Elieis sounded lucid and earnest, despite the insanity of what he had just told him. He spoke to him calmly and soothingly, promising to come. Elieis put the phone down and dried his face on his sleeve, and returned to Sam.

* * *

><p>The boot-happy police officer sat in front of the cell and flipped through Dean's wallet. "Wes Smith." he read out loud. He counted the small amount of money he found in it, snorted with annoyance and pocketed it, tossing the wallet onto his desk. He unlocked the door, crouched in front of the hunter, and shook him roughly. "Hey-American!" he barked.<p>

Dean groaned and turned to look at him, remaining silent.

"You're in a lot of shit here, you know. We don't take kindly to foreigners attacking the good citizens of San Raphael. They're gonna lock you up for a good long time. But you know, maybe if you make a big donation...they will see you are really a good man, and this thing was all a misunderstanding, you know?"

Dean stared up at him. "So you _do_ speak english."

"Of course. It is occasionally useful to me." he grinned unpleasantly.

"What kind of donation..?" Dean said with a sigh. It didn't matter, he had nothing of value other than the amulet around his neck, and they'd be getting that over his dead body.

"Oh, we take all kinds of donations for the good cause. Cash is always best, of course. Maybe you have somebody you can call, with more in their wallet than you have... somebody who gets here quick, before due process, you understand?"

Dean understood perfectly. He had a small window of opportunity to buy his freedom before the wheels of dubious justice ran him over and squashed him flat. The only problem was that he didn't have such a benefactor at hand. He knew Bobby, or even David Bowman, would come to his aid without a second thought, but neither would make it here before he was dragged deeper into the system. Sam and Elieis were at large and couldn't come near. The only one he could call was Javier.

He pushed himself up to sit, wincing. "Let me use my phone, I have somebody." The policeman gave it back to him, but Dean couldn't use it cuffed, so it was helpfully pressed to his ear. He speed dialed Sam's cell, waiting anxiously for Javier's voice. But it rang and rang, and finally he got voicemail. He left a terse message and the policeman took it away again.

"I hope for your sake your friend calls you back." he threatened.

Dean hoped so too. "Maybe he won't get my message in time. What happens then..?"

Without preamble, the policeman gave him another brutal kick, doubling Dean over. "Then you're _f~cked,_ American." He left Dean gagging on the floor and locked the cell door behind him. A pointless, random thought ran through Dean's mind as he passed out. -_no more vacations-_

* * *

><p>Elieis waited for what seemed an eternity in the church. At last, a tall, grey haired man entered, looking harried. Eli ran to greet him. "Padre Philippe.."<p>

The old man embraced him, taking in his state, scrutinizing his face. "Elieis, my friend." He assured himself that Eli was sober, which lent more credence to what he's said on the phone. He sat him down on a pew. "Tell me more of what is happening here."

Elieis did so, in greater detail now. Padre Philippe watched him as he spoke. He knew Eli's character, he knew he wasn't weak-minded or flighty, and decidedly not prone to superstitious nonsense. If anything he was the opposite; Padre Philippe was well aware of Elieis' feelings about the old church practices. The fact that he related this tale with obvious conviction was a telling thing.

"Elieis, I am glad you called me. We will sort this out, you and I. Come, my car is outside."

They drove to Sam's hiding place and picked him up. When he was safely in the car, Philippe spoke to him. "My friend Elieis tells me a very strange story. You are Sam, the brother, yes? Tell me truthfully; do you believe that this is happening as my young friend has described?"

Sam looked him in the eye. ''Yes sir. Word for word. I can't go into why we know right now, but believe me, this is an angry spirit, and it's not the first my brother and I have dealt with. And we know how to help him find his way to where he is supposed to be."

Philippe assessed the young man for a moment. "Good. Good. But we have more pressing concerns; let us find this brother of yours."

It took some costly convincing before they let him in to see the prisoner. Padre Philippe knelt beside him. The young man was lying on his side, his hands secured behind his back. His face and shirt were bloody. He seemed asleep, or unconscious, the priest wasn't sure which. He shook him gently.

Dean moaned and turned away, not wanting to be summoned to the waking world. But he heard a kind voice insist, and he blinked a few times and focused on the strange priest's face.

"What, last rites?" he groaned. He certainly felt like death at the moment.

The priest smiled. "No, not yet. Elieis Herrera sent me; my name is Padre Philippe." He took out a soft, clean handkerchief and carefully dabbed at Dean's blood encrusted face. Dean winced and tried to get up, but his side screamed in protest and he squeezed his eyes shut and shuddered. The priest put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him up to sit against the bench. "Are you comfortable like this?"

Dean nodded unconvincingly. "You saw Eli? Was my brother with him? Is he ok?" he whispered.

"I spoke to both, and they are well enough, but concerned for you. I came here to demand your freedom, but they refuse. Do not worry, they simply do not have the _authority_...they said that you understand what is necessary."

Dean nodded weakly again. He was trying hard to breath shallowly, but it was making him light-headed. The pain radiating through his back and side was turning his stomach, and he leaned against the cool cement of the cell wall beside him. Padre Philippe bent closer and scrutinized him. "What have they done to you?" he asked, shaking his head in dismay.

Dean inhaled carefully. "Got roughed up a bit, but I already had a couple of cracked ribs. They got in a few lucky shots, that's all." He took another pained breath and whispered, "As you can guess, it's not authority they need, it's money. And I don't have any."

Padre Philippe frowned and swore soundlessly. "How much does this 'authority' cost?" he demanded of the policeman sitting at the desk.

The man sized up the source. _Just a priest,_ probably as close to penniless as his prisoner. He was greedy, but he was also practical. "$500."

It was no small amount. Padre Philippe didn't know Dean from Adam. But he knew and trusted Elieis, and this man was his friend, and one who was aiding him in this very strange situation with the angry soul of San Mateo, real or imagined. He chose to put his faith in the unfortunate stranger. "I have this sum. But I must go to a bank, I am not stupid enough to carry it with me."

The policeman grunted. "Go quickly then. I cannot guarantee the situation of this criminal for much longer."

Dean closed his eyes in relief. But he had more important things at present. Despite their understanding that communication was paramount, Javier wasn't answering the cell. Dean was sure there was trouble at the church. He whispered his thanks to the old priest, adding, "I need you to do something, Padre. Block their view of me for a minute-"

The priest looked over his shoulder at the men, then shifted over. "Go on..."

"No time to spring me right now... Take this to Eli, he knows what to do." He reached awkwardly into a hidden pocket in his jeans, retrieving an object with shaking hands and dropping it into the priest's palm. It was San Mateo's precious silver cross. He'd scooped it up from the floor after the scuffle, just managing to stow it away before all hell broke loose.

Padre Philippe looked at the object he held. He knew what it was; Eli had explained it to him.. He didn't know what to make of young Elieis' bizarre tale, but he knew that this man now felt strongly enough about it's importance to sacrifice his own well-being in order to see it delivered safely. He felt he had to comply for that reason alone. He closed his fingers over it, and wrapped it in the bloodied handkerchief before tucking it away.

"But what of you? Your injuries, you need attention-"

"It'll keep, Padre. That cross is what all this is about...they have to burn it. Sam, my brother; he knows...he'll explain." He stopped and caught his breath again. "Please, Padre...or else all this will be for nothing."

Padre Philippe was loathe to leave him like this, but Dean's anxious insistence compelled him. He nodded grimly, blessed Dean and rose to leave. "I will warn them that if they harm you further, they will have the Bishop to answer to!" he vowed angrily.

Dean smiled slightly, but it quickly faded. "Padre, wait-"

Again the old priest bent down to hear him.

"Don't tell my brother, about the beating...please. Just tell him I'm fine."

Padre Philippe's eyes softened. "As you wish."

Dean closed his eyes against the spinning room. He breathed out a ragged sigh and laid his head back down on the sour, dirty floor. He heard Padre Phillippe tear a strip out of the policemen, promising to make good his threat to bring the Bishop should Dean come to any further grief. He heard him promise to return with the money. He didn't hear the rest, their voices blended into muffled din, fading to a hissing silence.


	14. Chapter 14

14

Javier screamed in panic, but there was no one there to aid him. Sister Crotilde's arm held him in a relentless grip, it dragged him back despite his frantic attempt to pull free. Books and stones and candles whirled about, some now burning, pelting him mercilessly. The church pews were beginning to catch fire now, the crackled old varnish a ready fuel for the hungry flames. He could feel the heat increasing, hear the flames begin to roar with power. The wood in the church was ancient; dry as tinder. The fire took hold and crept up the century of wax on the beams, hungry for more fuel as it gained in strength. He could hear the dog howling in terror in Eli's quarters as the black, oily smoke began to billow from the windows. He clawed his hands bloody but he couldn't break the grip San Mateo held him with through the nun. She still reeked of the gasoline he'd soaked her with, and in minutes, the fire reached the wrappings and she burst into a pall of flame. Javier struggled and kicked and writhed but the hold was absolute. He wailed in agony as his feet began to burn.

* * *

><p>Padre Philippe met the others in a small cafe. Sam was fiddling with his coffee cup, too distraught to stomach its bitter contents. He looked up anxiously as the priest returned to their table, and he peppered him with questions as he sat down.<p>

"How is he? Is he hurt? Are they going to press charges?"

Padre Philippe sighed. He measured his words now. "Your brother asked me to tell you that he is fine, Sam."

Sam blanched. He knew that phrase all too well. Dean could be stumping along with his own severed limb tucked under his arm and he'd still insist he was _fine_. "Padre, do you think he is?"

The older man met his eyes. "No...no, I do not. Boys, listen. This is what we have here; your brother is being held in the jail until he is either charged, or a bribe is paid. We have little time; when their superior returns, there will be no way to reverse this. They demand $500."

Sam bore a look of panic. He wracked his brain; Most of what they had was tied up in silver, which was cast as ammunition, it would take too long to try to liquidate it.

And Eli was beside himself. "Padre, we have no such amount! I already used what little money I had earlier. No, I must go to the station! I will tell them it was me who assaulted that man, explain that the cross was stolen from the church, they will free him, they _have _to!"

"No, Elieis! Wake up and listen to me! This is not about justice; these men want only money. They have no interest in _who_ did _what_; they have a man in their cell who can pad their wallets, and that's all they care about!" He lowered his voice. "Sam, I will pay the ransom, I have enough. I must go now quickly to the bank, time is precious. But there is something else-" He retrieved the cloth bundle from his pocket, unwrapping the cross. As he held it out, both young men gasped in shock.

"The cross! How did you...?"

"Dean gave it to me in the jail. He asked that we do this first, before we do anything on his behalf. Sam, he said that it was to be burned immediately, and that you knew what to do."

Sam took the thing and examined it. "This bit of cord...it's the last remaining relic of the body of San Mateo. Someone wove it from his hair when he died, as a memento mori. We have to salt and burn it, I'll explain later, but that will release his spirit from its tie to earth. If we're successful, his siege of Elieis' church will be over and he'll find his peace. Eli and I will go do that right now, but...do you think Dean will really be ok for the moment?"

Philippe shook his head grimly. "I don't know, but let's not take a chance. You do what you must, I will go now to get their money and return to the station. If I am successful I will meet you here again within the hour."

Sam realized now the extent of kindness being offered by this stranger. It was a lot of money, probably close to everything he had. "Padre...thank you, for this. I can't tell you..."

Padre Philippe rose to leave. "Por nada, Sam. You and your brother have done much more. Besides; Elieis has been remiss in keeping in touch with me, I will hold him in my debt." He winked at Eli, who returned a wan smile.

* * *

><p>Salt and kerosene were staples in the Impala's trunk. Sam retrieved both, along with matches, and they headed out to find a place away from prying eyes. Eli gathered a small pile of sticks and laid the cross on it, and Sam poured a liberal amount of both substances over it. He held the match ready.<p>

"Do you want to say a quick word, Elieis?"

Eli nodded, closing his eyes. "Go now to peace, San Mateo Alemann." Succinct, and heartfelt. He made a sign of the cross and nodded to Sam, who struck and dropped the match.

The little pile burned quickly, the hair twisting and blackening, and burning away with an acrid odour. The cross remained unaffected. Elieis turned to Sam, a hint of weary tears in his eyes. "The cross will not burn."

"It's alright, it's just a thing, it has no bearing on this. Keep it, Eli... bring it back to your church."

Elieis picked it up and closed his fingers over it, but dropped it abruptly. He hadn't realized how hot the metal had become. He stared at the burn that was left on his palm, a painful and perfect copy of the cross. He smiled, shaking his hand ruefully. "My Saint has decided I should not be allowed to forget this. I suppose I deserve that." He took out a handkerchief and picked up the cross from the sand, wrapping it and tucking it safely away. "So. It is done, pray God."

Sam sighed. "I sure as hell hope so, Eli. We're pretty much out of options now."

* * *

><p>Javier was choking on the smoke, tears of pain and terror caking the ash on his face. His feet were an agony of burned flesh, he was nearly passing out. <em>...forgive me...<em>he thought, as the blackness filled his senses.

But suddenly, he felt the hold on his leg release. The whirling objects fell to the floor and lay still, and shocked, he snapped to his senses, crawling away from the burning remains and out of the church. Reaching a safe distance, he turned and watched, stunned, as the flames breached the roof. And as the timbers collapsed in a rush of heated air and sparks, he realized...Elieis and the brothers had done it. The spirit of San Mateo was gone.

Padre Philippe clutched his hand to his coat, keeping the money safe. It was dangerous to carry such an amount, and his eyes darted back and forth as he hurried back to his car. He prayed that he would be in time.

* * *

><p>Dean turned away from the policeman's voice. -<em>sonofabitch never shuts up<em>-

"You know what happens to pretty gringos in Puente Grande..?"

Dean sighed. "No. But I'm sure you'll tell me."

"Their families have to pay hundreds every month just for them to eat, and even more to stay a _man_, you know? You're getting off easy with $500."

"Lucky _me_."

The policeman toyed with Dean's wallet, flipping again through the contents. "Damn _right_ lucky you. You better hope your priest shows up soon. My captain is due any moment now. He's not local, he doesn't understand how we do things here. If there's a prisoner, he thinks they need to go through the proper channels. You'll be sent to Tijuana in the morning."

Dean was silent. He shut his eyes and tried to ignore the smell of the floor tiles beneath his cheek. He hoped that Sam and Eli were able to burn the relic. He also hoped that the Padre was able to come through. His side was aching sharply, he was sure that the ribs he'd cracked were in a worse state now, thanks to their brutal attentions, and it was an effort just to keep from adding to the dried vomit on the floor. He just wanted to curl up and float away, but the grating voice of his captor wouldn't let him.

"Did you hear me, American?"

"...what?"

"I said stop your damned moaning! Jesus, are all american men such pussies?"

Dean envisioned planting a biker boot in the SOB's crotch. "Maybe, I dunno. Are all Mexican cops a bunch of crooked pigs sucking the system teat dry?"

He regretted it instantly. The policeman growled something Spanish. He hauled open the door, grabbed Dean by the shirtfront and plowed his fist into his temple. It was an ugly, violent act, but at least Dean was granted his wish...he felt himself relax and drift into blackness again.

He was roused from the quiet again all too soon. But this time, the hand shaking him was far gentler. "Dean, please-you must awake."

He groaned and blinked at the speaker, recognizing him after a moment. "Padre."

Padre Philippe smiled tensely. "Come, Dean...the good officer here has something to say to you."

Dean turned his head up to view his tormentor. The policeman was a changed man, he spoke to Dean now with a saccharin courtesy. "Mr. Smith, we are pleased to inform you that there has been a grave error. We are dropping the charges against you, you are free to go. We regret any unpleasantness this may have caused."

Dean smiled without humour. -_whatever_. His hands were freed, he flexed the numbness out of his arms and pushed himself up to his knees, waiting some time before allowing Padre Philippe to pull him to his feet. He was dizzy, he rested heavily against the older man until he'd settled his equilibrium, and when he could, he walked with careful slowness out the door. He held his hand behind him with his middle finger raised in a rude gesture, until the Padre grabbed his wrist and pushed it back out of sight.

Once outside, Dean stopped for a moment, feeling the mild breeze begin to dry the sweat from his face. He took a shaky breath, realizing that he had dodged a very serious bullet. He thanked the priest again. Philippe patted his shoulder and supported him, and used his free hand to pull the door open for Dean. Dean scanned the car. It was the first thing he'd seen in this town that pleased him, and he smiled with appreciation. "Sixty-nine?"

The Padre chuckled, smiling proudly. "That's right. She was new when I bought her. As a younger man I was nearly buried in it more than once. Now we are older and wiser, so we drive slowly, the two of us."

Dean ran his hand along the lines of the heavy door. It was no '67, and it was a faded blue instead of black, but any old Impala was a good Impala. He slid onto the seat with a grunt of pain and lay his head back in exhaustion. Padre Philippe glanced at his companion with sympathy. He took special care to avoid the rough parts of the road as he drove back to the cafe.


	15. Chapter 15

Final Chapter.

Both Sam and Elieis were beyond relief at seeing both men safe.

"You ok?" Sam demanded, practically pulling his brother out of the car.

Dean brusquely ignored his concern. "Did you burn it? Is it done?"

Elieis answered, holding up his marked hand. "It is done, Dean. The hair was burned to ashes, nothing left. I have the cross with me."

"Good. Now let's get the hell out of here before some other freaking disaster strikes." Not interested in the least in sitting at the table to decompress, he made a bee-line for the car out front. He gingerly got himself settled behind the wheel of the Impala, and Sam joined him. Philippe and Eli did the same, and the two cars headed back to San Mateo's church as quickly as they dared. At Dean's insistence, Sam tried repeatedly to reach Javier, but was met each time by voicemail. Finally the cell ran out of power, and all they could do was hope to find Javier alive and unhurt. Sam tossed the useless phone into the glovebox. It gave him a chance to worry about the other players in this angsty little production.

"How are you holding up, Dean? What happened to you there?" he asked, assessing his brother sharply as he drove.

Dean's face bore a taut expression of pain, his right eye was swelling somewhat and he had abrasions on his arms. Sam could see he was avoiding any contact with the seat back, hunched forward and favouring his right side in an awkward pose. It must have been tiring to drive like that. He wished he could take over, but the cast made it impossible.

Dean sighed, too tired and sore to put the effort into hiding it. ''Sonofabitchs got a good couple of kicks in; ribs hurt like a bitch. Look...it's nothing new, alright? I'll be fine once we get back to the beach. Maybe I'll sleep there on the sand for the next few days...just send out some hot chicks with nachos and cold cervesas every few hours, it'll all be good."

Sam remained concerned. "I know they kicked the crap out of you, Eli saw some of it. Maybe we should go back to that clinic."

"Maybe, but we're not gonna.." Dean replied, with a stubborn finality. His jaw was set, and his eyes were dark and angry. Sam knew well enough not to push it.

* * *

><p>Eli had a long discussion with Padre Philippe during the drive. The elder priest listened quietly, and reserved his judgement regarding the haunting until he saw things for himself. One thing was clear, however; Elieis would need help in re-establishing himself there as the new priest. Much damage had been done, and he would have to work very hard to regain the parishoners' trust, if indeed it was even possible. Philippe would aid him in this, he would take a leave from his current parish and work with Eli until the San Mateo parish was functional again. Eli was a good man, but he was young and rash, and he needed guidance, and more than that, support. Elieis, for his part, was greatly relieved to have the support of his old mentor.<p>

It was all moot when they caught sight of the column of smoke.

"Jesus, what _now_?" Dean growled. The smoke was still rising, and as they got closer to their destination, they could see the orange flames reaching through the roof of the church. They could smell the burning beams.

"Mother of God!" Eli murmured, aghast. "Javier!"

Padre Philippe floored it, and both cars roared into the churchyard, doors flinging open in a swirl of heated dust. Dean was out and running, calling for Javier. Elieis caught up with him. They couldn't get near the church entrance, the heat was too intense. The building was fully engulfed in flames, a third of the roof had collapsed, the rest was roiling with fire.

"Go around! Keep calling!" Dean shouted.

Elieis sprinted around the building, choking on the acrid smoke and praying that his brother was anywhere but inside. Dean ran around to the priest's quarters, but it too was now a wall of flame. He called as loudly as he could, coughing and trying to keep his streaming eyes open as glowing embers floated down around him. There was no response. He glanced around, frantically, and saw the dog. The scruffy, singed animal was barking madly at the entrance to the graveyard, and Dean ran toward it. The dog met him, and nipped at his shins, running away and returning to do the same until Dean followed it.

It was there that he found Javier. He shouted to Eli over the roar of the fire, and he was joined by the young priest. Sam and Padre Philippe had heard the shout, and they made their way to the others.

Javier sat on the ground, leaning against a gravestone. He waved a hand in weary greeting, and the dog came up and lay with its head across his lap. Elieis knelt, coughing and crying with relief while Dean checked Javier over for injury. He could see the charred sandals, and burned skin.

"What the hell happened?_ Jesus_, Javier, you're burned pretty bad!"

Javier looked at Eli, and then recognized Padre Philippe. He caught Dean's eye meaningfully, and spun his story to suit this newest witness. "Something caught fire in the church... it went up so quickly, I could not put it out. The sister and the caretaker were inside, they are gone, I'm afraid."

"Padre Philippe knows what has been happening here, Javier." Eli said. "We must get you to the hospital, the firefighters are coming, I can hear the sirens now." He would discuss the fire with his brother later. He knew that Sister Crotilde's body had been dragged to the shed. There was no reason for her to have been in the church when it burned, unless...

* * *

><p>The fire-trucks were long gone. Elieis and Padre Philippe sat in the older man's car. At Javier's insistence, Dean and Sam drove him to the clinic while the priests stayed behind to meet the throng of people and explain what had happened, or at least, a safer version of that tale. <em>Vandals had been at the church, they'd set a fire<em>...

Steam still rose from the ruined building. The air reeked of the sour smell of smoke, wet lime and sodden timbers. Eli sat, numbed, watching as the occasional chunk of heat-damaged mortar or stone fell from the walls. Dean and Javier had coached him thoroughly, the police and firefighters had taken as tragic fact the description Eli had offered as to what had befallen the church, and the two unfortunate people who had perished inside. The bodies had been taken away, to the local morgue, where family could claim them for burial. The onlookers had wandered away again, mumbling and weeping over their loss. At last it was quiet again.

Elieis sat in the still in the silence. He was beyond tears. After what he'd witnessed in the past few days, the loss of the building was no longer as meaningful as it would have been under normal circumstances. San Mateo's fury had made a ruin of the fixtures and interior anyway, and with the tower having fallen, well...perhaps it was all for the best. He felt a guilty gratitude to Javier for committing his terrible sin. Who knows what would have happened if all the evidence, and the bodies of those two, had still lain there, requiring impossible explanation. He stared down at the cross-shaped burn on his palm.

Philippe saw it and looked at him questioningly.

"The mark of San Mateo's cross." Elieis explained. "I picked it up from the ashes, after we burned the hair. It was still hot from the fire, and it branded me."

Padre Philippe nodded. "Elieis, do you think that your Saint is at peace now?"

Eli sighed. "I do, Padre. I saw what happened when his spirit was unhappy. Javier is alive still, because we were successful. He would have burned to death but for the saint going suddenly quiet."

Philippe nodded again, thoughtful. "Ah yes, Javier... That is a confession I must hear soon." He laughed softly. "Burning a church... He will be mumbling rosaries for the rest of his life as penance."

Eli turned his tired eyes to his mentor. "But he _will_ be forgiven...? I did not ask him to do this...but he was protecting me, as he always did."

Padre Philippe squeezed his shoulder. "Eli, God looks at intentions as well as acts. The church was ruined by the Saint's anger long before that match was struck. Don't despair here. If your heart is still in it, I will help you with the parish. We will re-build the church. It won't be easy; there are wounds in the parish that will take a long time to heal, but you have learned much from this, I think. Your ideas were good, you meant well. But people are delicate, they require careful handling. And change is never easy."

Elieis smiled softly at his old friend. "Philippe, I do want to continue here, if the people will let me.. And I am grateful that you will stay...I think it may keep me from being lynched in the coming days."

"Pray hard for that, Elieis." Philippe chuckled ruefully. "Come, we are done here; let's go check on your brother."

* * *

><p>Javier was treated for his burns. The clinic doctor felt that he may not need skin grafts, but he would have to stay there for treatment. Infection was always a danger after such injuries. If healing became a problem, they would send him to the city. He was vociferously unhappy with the situation, and he would have walked out if he could have. Dean felt for him, he would have done the same. As for his own hurts, he was checked thoroughly at Sam's insistence. He had marks and welts over his arms and shoulders from when he'd covered his head protectively from the policia's blows. And more over his flanks. They would darken impressively over the next days, along with his shiner. But despite the pain, his fractured ribs were not displaced and would continue to heal. He would be pretty slow and stiff... they both would, but he had already stated his intentions of living on the beach for the next while, and nothing was going to hamper him in that pursuit. Sam was none the worse for wear. He had to pay for another set of crutches, but other than that, he hadn't damaged his healing bones.<p>

* * *

><p>Elieis and Padre Philippe stayed at Javier's house while he was in the hospital. They worked together to plan the rebuilding of the church, and had already gained several donations of skill and materials. Philippe acted as mediator and counsel to those who would have liked to see the young priest strung up, and eventually they grudgingly accepted him back. San Mateo's parish would continue.<p>

Dean and Sam were granted another week's stay at the hotel, gratis, once Javier's boss had heard how their own vacation was interrupted as they helped his valued employee. And he assured them that they would have work when they were ready. They were grateful; funds were running low, and neither felt up to earning their keep just yet. They spent lazy, quiet days in the warm sun. Sam was disappointed that swimming was out of the question, thanks to his cumbersome cast, but both brothers reaped the benefits of the sympathy factor when it came to the young women at the resort. No one could blame them for playing it up a bit, they'd earned it...

By the end of the brothers' uninterrupted week of relaxation, Javier returned from his stay at the hospital. He hobbled around, wincing with each step, but elated to be back in familiar surrounds. He immediately returned to his first love, cooking, and the Winchesters and Eli and Philippe were treated to some very fine cuisine. And the evenings improved as well, as Javier took out his guitar and serenaded his guests as often as they would stand for it. Even the thin little dog showed the effects of his improved lot in life. He was already filling out, his coat thickening and growing shiny. He was devoted to Elieis, who bought his affection with endless treats from Javier's fridge.

Dean sat with the two of them on the porch, one evening. He scratched the dog's head. "So did you decide on what to call him yet, Eli? I think you should call him Mateo."

Eli snorted. "I think I've done enough to earn the good Saint's fury, don't you? I'm not sure he'd approve of having this scruffy beast bearing his name!"

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, I guess. But you're gonna have to come up with something...can't keep calling him _Dog_."

"I did. What do you think of _Relic_?"

"Ha! Relic...Yeah, that works, he looks like some little dried up leftover. Hey Relic, c'mere-" He ruffled his ears, pushed him over and rubbed his belly until the dog was beside himself with glee, leaping up and running in tight, excited circles and yipping madly. Dean laughed. "Stupid dog."

* * *

><p>The time came for Elieis and Padre Philippe to go. Javier was able to manage on his own, and the parish had put up a tiny cottage for their priest, while the church was being rebuilt. Goodbyes and heartfelt thank-you's were said, promises made to visit and phone regularly. Padre Philippe rev'ed his car, grinning at Dean. "Maybe someday you can trade up to one like this." he teased. Dean shook his head and laughed.<p>

Elieis took Dean aside for a moment, shyly handing him a wrapped item. Dean looked at him quizzically. "What's this?"

"Well, open it."

He did, revealing the old silver cross of San Mateo. "Aw hell, Elieis, I can't-"

"Take it, Dean. I want you to have it. If you hadn't been here, well...things would have turned out much differently. I am in your debt, more than you could imagine. I know that you and Javier are kindred spirits, and that you were there to offer him an ear and good advice when it came to his stupid brother. We were growing into strangers, he and I, but now... Well, I think you understand."

Dean held the cross, rolling it slowly back and forth in his fingers. He _did_ understand. Family was everything. He took the leather cord that held his amulet from around his neck, and untied it, slipping the cross on and tying it again. He put it back on. "Thanks, Eli."

Elieis smiled a little sadly. "Well, I had better go, before that old priest gets too impatient and leaves me here. I will pray for your health and happiness, Dean; yours and Sam's. You've chosen a difficult road."

Dean nodded, and returned a smile of his own. "So have _you_."

* * *

><p>End<p> 


End file.
